The Avengers Interviews
by AudeTheThird
Summary: They gave me a day with each Avenger, living in their space - some spooning, flirting, grumpiness, and general husbandry is included. I was allowed to record every word they said. I wasn't allowed to report on everything that happened, but what I was, I took and ran with. (Nick, please don't hurt me.) This is what resulted.
1. Preface

_The Full and Complete Works of the Criticality Acclaimed, Best Selling Works of "Kitty" Black._

_The Avengers Interviews_


	2. Tin Can Man

_Tin Can Man_

Anthony Stark. Self professed genius. Suit, tie, shiny Italian shoes worth more than my whole luggage put together.

He was my first.

Well, my first Avenger. I didn't have a particular set of questions and I didn't feel the need to. It was six am, we both looked like shit, both shook hands, grumbled formalities, then crashed on the couch.

Yup. I meet one of the most powerful people in the whole world and we pass out within minutes. I can try to blame the combined pressure of our egos creating a short lapse in the oxygen around us, but I won't.

I'll just give the truth, which starts at the fact that I know he was out until all hours the night before, partying at an event to promote the Stark Expo in a few months, and that I was up all last night making sure I didn't ask redundant questions about shit the public already knew, before crashing about two hours before I needed to be at Stark Tower.

This is why I don't get work often.

When we wake up, it's because Tony's CEO, Virginia 'Pepper' Potts, is yelling at him. Well, 'yelling' isn't the right word. She's intensely frustrated, she's saying he's missed a meeting and that he has company and he's _just so rude_.

He wipes drool from his chin with his lilac tie - Bold choice, Mr. Stark - and gives her a grin that makes me want to laugh, but Miss Potts isn't laughing.

She's a stunning woman - not exactly conventional, but absolute in her beauty. She's tall and willowy, thin all over with a shock of red hair pulled neatly away from fierce blue eyes. Her pants suit looks so easy on her, where mine seems to be well aware the rider is not a native to business attire.

Tony gets up, still grinning, and plants a gentle kiss on her cheekbone.

I see her softening.

But soft is exactly what she's not, because she's _still_ tough as nails, wearing a look like a viper might at prey who was just prolonging it's death by general cuteness. I don't know how he kept his swagger on full force or how she kept him at a safe distance, because if I were in either one of their shoes I'd be swooning either way.

Luckily, I'm not, so I stand up and start to make my apologies.

"No, don't be silly. Hi, I'm Pepper Potts."

"Eliza Black." I put my hand in hers - her grip is firm, but she had bones like birds, and I think I nearly snap her fingers. "It may have been my fault that we, er, took a nap."

"Mr. Stark should really have been prepared for you." she amends.

"Please. Call me Tony." he coos to her, then he looks and me and wiggles his eyebrows. "Goes for you too, Liza."

"Ho...kay. Tony. I can do that." I look between them, sensing a rift. It's kind of like Spiderman powers but not - the animosity, the chemistry, it's like a hole in the time-space continuum itself. There's a lot of history there, in those few inches between them, a lot of power, a lot of affection.

Can't call it love, it's not my place. But when she looks at him, I can see it. It's wonderful, the way she tames him, the way he pushes her buttons, gets her so riled up and then brings her down again.

I myself would rather punch him in the face, black both his eyes and leave him bleeding, but Pepper Potts is not me, and I think Tony should be intensely grateful she's got reins on his company...

And on him.

He's giving me a bright once over he missed out on doing in the morning. I look down and see that my nice grey suit is crinkled and raised well-above-the-knee, and try and smooth it down to it's respectable length, south of my patellas.

Doesn't really work.

The world is against me.

"So," I say lightly. "What time is it?"

"Eleven thirty."

_Good effort, Black. You're such a royal mess. _

"Sheesh. Here was me thinking an awkward breakfast was needed." I rub my temple. "How hard _do_ you party, Mr. Stark?"

"Like a rockstar. You went quicker than I did, though."

"Read the full article to find out why."

"Shameless self promotion. One of my better qualities. Have you been made aware of the new range of StarkTech that have gone into mass production as of late?"

"I have." I nod.

Pepper just briefly stares at the ceiling, willing it to come down on him as he starts spinning random facts at me. He's one part robot, must be, because his mouth is like a never ending motor...

...Which I'm sure as he reads this will make him think of some dirty joke to send my way.

Pepper organises him into another suit - I get my blue sundress, the one that's longer than I think is necessary and floral. Typically not a floral person, I scowl at it in the mirror, holding out the excess material to see how I now look like a sugar glider of some description.

"You look like a grandmother." Tony says as I approach, eyeing the hem of my trailing dress.

"I don't know what grandmothers you've seen recently," I pout, strike a flattering pose. "But I don't think they're the same kind as everyone else's."

"Point to you." he makes goo-goo eyes my sternum, then straightens, unfazed by the wit, which may slightly annoy me. "Seriously, though, ditch the dress."

"I have another dress, but it's classy. Bottle green, high rise." I motion on my collar bone to where it hides my chest.

"Why do you ruin my fun?"

I shrug.

"I like Pepper."

"You mustn't have known that before you came here, packing granny-wear." his eyes go south. "So, is everything, you know... **Ick**?"

"I really hope you aren't referring to my vagina, here."

He barks a laugh.

His eyes are dark, I realise this only because he's tipping his head forward at me so I can see past the line of his shades. For all the intelligence and brightness, the mischief and glittering, they're endless, dark pools, framed by rather attractive laugh lines. I like the fact he smiles enough to have them.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

Now I'm looking around, because there's no one else in the room and that voice seems to be in here somewhere.

"Do we have the WOS closet still online?"

There's a small pause.

"It's in storage, sir. Under the garage."

"C'mon." he waves his hand at me.

"The..." I don't often get floored, especially not with words - with them being my forte. But he's just spat out some undoubted Tony Stark Approved code, and, I permit myself to play the fool. "What, closet?"

"WOS. JARVIS, explain." he leads the way, and I follow along, still looking around for speakers or a well dressed English butler named Jarvis.

"The Walk Of Shame, closet. Mr. Stark, in his... More energetic, days-"

"-Don't think I won't disable you. I was getting a lot of tail."

"Yes, well." he sounds completely unenthused. "Would frequently ruin his mistress' dresses beyond acceptable wear for the morning after, and kept a catalogue of different garments to suitably clothe them with after they were done in the morning. The clothes are for the, aptly named, Walk Of Shame."

"Pepper thought it was handy." Tony tells me over his shoulder. "She had to dry clean sequins one too many times. This way I was more organised."

"The fact you did this frightens me, a little." I look at my dress, the tiny blue flowers with red centres, the swirliness around my ankles. I thought it was pretty, at least, as well as mildly flattering, just not slutty. "Can't you just be seen in public with a lady, for once?"

"I have Pepper to be a lady. I think we both know you are no lady. I'm just keen to bring it out, a little more."

"Keep that talk up, and I'll show you how much of a lady I am." I say to the back of his head.

"Yeah, you beat up a bunch of aliens, right? That's how you got here, earned that award?"

"That'd be me." I say, and watch him punch in a number on what appears to be a slice of misplaced glass.

"That's cool. I, myself, am quite the alien beater-upperer. We should beat up some aliens together, sometime." He pulls open a glass door that reveals a work station - there is a mess of stuff everywhere. "Like 'em all beated up."

Semantics, numbers, technical designs hanging on walls, bits and pieces of machinery laying half finished. Lonely cups ringed with week's worth of coffee dregs, food wrappers, a box of Fruit Loops. A robotic arm squeaks and nervously hides behind a whiteboard as Tony sends it a blistering glare he doesn't bother to explain.

"You know," I say, twirling around. "For a genius... You have a fairly unsatisfying vocabulary."

"Oh come on." he snorts, digging through some drawers that were already open. "Wait until you meet the Doc, or maybe even Thor's girlfriend Jane. Then you get really long words and really big headaches. Chill."

"Thor's got a girlfriend?"

"Don't be so disappointed Everyone else is free but us. Well, maybe not Hawkeye and Black Widow. I think they're knockin' more than just boots. But, don't publicize that, I might get sniped."

Which is exactly why I chose to publicize it.

"JARAVIS? Where's the remote for storage? Where'd I leave it?"

"I don't know."

"Well can you find out?"

I swear the computer is sighing.

"Let me review my files, sir."

"Should I invent a remote finder? Like a beeper?"

"You'd lose the beeper too frequently." he advises.

"Yeah, probably." Stark rubs the plate of light in his chest.

I gawk.

"Okay, seriously, that's your AI?"

"Yup. That's JARIVS." he looks around at me. "What, you know Artificial Intelligences, kid?"

"I, for starters, am not a kid. I happen have a huge hard on for nerdy stuff like this." I tell him. "He's... really advanced. Like, his personality is phenomenal."

"Baby, you had me at hard on." His grin is naughty.

"Sir, the remote is in the coat hanging on the white board." the cool voice says. "And thank you, Miss Black, for your compliment to my personality."

"You're welcome, JARVIS." I look around. "Okay, I don't actually know where to look when talking to you."

"I am a house hold entity, Miss Black. I am everywhere."

"Ominous." I mutter, but he still hears me.

"Undoubtedly." he says, and I look back to Tony, who's got a red button in his hand. He presses it and tosses it over his shoulder, not bothering to watch where it goes. There's a low rumble, and I whirl to see the ground is now coming up at me.

"Just another day in the Stark household." I say, blinking at it.

The four Iron Man suits stare back at me, as they go on past. The concrete that acts as a roof shudders, then slides open and lets them pass on through. There's more machine bits and pieces a vast expanse of a real world display that might be mimicking Stark Expo, and a few more - need-to-know items I can't legally mention, thanks, Nick.

Nick is my not-boyfriend. But I know he finds me hot. It was he who turned up at my place of work and talked me into this nonsense, made me read and rehash the guidelines of my admittance into the Avengers' world.

Nick, my not-boyfriend, is the boss of all things Avengers.

"There they are. You're a size-" he then correctly measures me with nothing but his eyes, and wonders off into the WOS wardrobe that had risen from hell. When he comes back, he's got a little - TINY - black dress over his arm and a pair of bright red pumps in the other.

"No." I say, and knock him out of my way and shove my purse in his general direction. "If you close this shit while I'm in there, I'll crawl out and break your face."

"Look forward to it. Your size is up the back, on the left." He says, and engages JARVIS in mild conversation that leaves my head reeling. If I go missing, the computer is threatening to send footage of some kind of detriment to some important government agency I can't mention on fear for my life (from Nick).

The AI is on the defence for me.

So.

Cool.

"JARVIS?" I mock whisper, when I find my sizes.

"Yes, Miss Black?" he isn't whispering, but his volume is lowered, and he's only addressing me from a single speaker closer to my person.

"Can- uh... Can you tell me if Tony starts to peek on me? I need to change."

"Of course, miss. I'll keep all thousand eyes on his person."

"Thanks."

"You are welcome."

The skirt I pick is well above the knee, but it's supposed to be high waisted, so I pull it to a more comfortable length, still up around my belly button somewhere. There are a decided lack of shirts, so I end up with a tank-dress tucked into the skirt and a sheer billowy white shirt that comes in dramatically at the hands and waist.

I have to pull the tags off these items, and I try very hard to ignore their prices, but I just can't. The skirt alone has me wanting to take inch-long strides as it is. Luckily, I ignore that timid, easily intimidated part of my brain and _strut_.

I keep on my little black flats and try to ignore the smell of thousands of dollars of untouched shoes, staring sadly at me as I pass on by them.

"If you comment negatively on this, and try and make me change," I tell him, who's got his hand in the cereal box. "I'm not above letting the public know about your sudden and strange fetishes."

His eyes linger on the tightness of my skirt.

"Not that I don't have several, strange and intense fetishes, but I won't say a word. Nice ass."

I'm very tempted to revel in the praise, and might do it, just a little.

"I work hard to keep my ass like this. Let's go, I'm starving."

* * *

"All those clothes in there," he says, mouth full of pasta. "You want 'em?"

I nearly break the glass I'm holding.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. S'not like I'm usin' them. I'm a changed man, now."

"You told me I had a nice ass."

"So?... I didn't touch it."

I consider that.

"I see the improvement, although I would've had to exert some kind of brutal force if you had."

"Turns me on, not off. I know a buncha ladies capeable in more ways'n one."

"Like Pepper?"

He stabs his fork at me.

"No one is like Pepper."

Pause.

"But those clothes..." I go on, because now my interest is well and truly piqued. "The shoes!... Shouldn't you, auction them off, or hand them to charity?"

"They're old. Out of date."

"So you give them to me?"

"I saw the way you tried to inhale the heels." he waves his fork at me. "Just say yes."

"My grandmother would kill me if she knew." I wince like it's selling my soul to the Devil.

"Just say yes."

Sorry Gran.

"Yes?"

"Good, they're yours."

I nearly die. Instead, I eat some more of his chef wrought pasta and drink some more sweet wine.

"Where _is_ Pepper?" I ask him.

He thinks he hides the loneliness, but he doesn't. Those dark eyes of his stop glittering. It's like I'm killing his dog, expressed all in the eyes.

"Out. She's got a company to run, apparently it has to run in Russia."

"Russia. Never been."

"Lotta spies come from Russia." the twinkling is back, so I figure he's speaking about something that he's not supposed to be speaking about, and for both our sakes I now have to delete the resulting conversation from my brain.

Nick, I'm not going to have anything left to write about!

From the conversation of secrets, we get onto the Iron Man idea.

"Nothing like being tortured." by now he's (we both have) had a lot of wine, and he's just sent over for more alcohol that isn't mild but incredibly strong, because I've had a bit to drink in my time and I can _smell_ it from where it is. "I mean, there's shit like watching people you love being tortured, and that's worse, always worse because..."

He drinks a big mouthful.

"Because you wanna take that pain away, you know? You want that pain to be yours, to own it, you can't... You don't want 'em to hurt, you'd rather take the beatings, the ice dunkings, the blood letting...But I mean, when you're hurting so bad, when people have so much o' that hate in 'em that they try and _break_ you... Snap you, shatter you, tear you apart... Nothing like it. Nothing like it in the whole world."

"Tony?"

His eyes are unfocused. I know he's just talking. My hand goes out and I squeeze his, which is loosely hanging onto the side of the table.

"I hate to think that you went through that." I say, because '_I'm Sorry_', isn't enough. "And I don't know you. But I hate it for you."

"Thanks." his fingers lose purchase on the table, and he pats my wrist. "You're alright, for the media. I hate the media."

"I ain't the media." I inform him. "I'm just a girl who happens to write for a living."

He reaches over and pours a healthy-... well, too much, in my glass and clinks his against it with force. He skulls his but I sip mine, trying to keep a sober mind in the presence of a mildly smashed Stark.

"I have never..." he said, after smacking his lips. "Ever, talked about the kidnapping, before."

"I have never heard a personal kidnapping story told before." I tell him in return.

There's a small bout of his chuckling and my snickering, then he says:

"I have never sat in a normal movie theatre without getting laid."

"That isn't reserved for the elite, cuz neither have I."

He smacks my shoulder, and I laugh into my glass.

"I have never... Hmm... There's not a lot I never."

I seem to put thought into what I say next.

"I have never met anyone as famous as you until I beat me up some aliens. But I like you. I thought I was going to have to fake the death of my father to get out of this, I'm not gunna lie. I don't lie a lot."

I hear my own laughter on the recording. But then I hear something else. Something I'm not quite sure I remember on my own merit.

"Hey, wanna play a drinking game with me?" he says, then the line goes dead and I drank too much to recall what happened next.

* * *

Tony is casually sitting on the kitchen table, reflective aviators on, nursing a big opalescent blue mug against his temple. I slit my fingers over my eyes, but it doesn't stop the pain stabbing me in the retina.

Waking up on his bathroom floor was not pleasant I realise that my mic has been on the last few hours and that I'll eventually hear what happened after, but at that moment, I could care less about the 'interview' or 'days in the lives of', and just hold my throbbing skull with both hands.

"You're not wearing pants." he says.

"I_ don't care_." I've got the hangover from hell and, besides, I found a oily t-shirt of his, and pulled it on over the tank dress from yesterday, which I hasten to lower with one grumpy hand. "Jesus, Stark, what the hell did you feed me?"

"Brandy." he belches, groans a little. "Lots, and lots, of brandy. Then some whiskey. Chased it with scotch. Here." he takes the mug off his head and I see it's swollen, cut, black and blue.

"Hell. What'd you do to your head!" the explanation makes me claw a hand over the pound in my brain, and for once, I wish I was the more quiet type.

"As if I know." he shrugs one shoulder. "It's got stitches in it, I'm sure it's fine."

"Naturally, your ego cushioned whatever impact you've had."

"Do you want the only known cure for nasty hangovers?" he wiggles the mug at me.

"What's in it?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, you don't want to know. Just know it works."

I take it and sip it - it's thick and cold and soothes my abused throat. I'd clearly been throwing up all night, clearly been drinking something that burns, but where that begins or ends is a total mystery to me.

I make a sound like I'm having a religious experience which makes him snicker a little. Without much thinking about it, I put my head on the marble of the kitchen table, just before his crossed legs. He fondly, carefully, pats the back of my head, chuckling.

"Glad you think this is funny." I grump.

"You put 'em away, Kitten. Gave me a run for my money."

"I must've been running nonstop, all night."

"I wouldn't say that." he shuffles back, slides his horribly bright green Hulk inspired pants in front of my face, which makes me stand up and take a sip of his healing elixir.

"What would you say, then?"

"There was running... I think there was water..."

"I know my bra is wet. But I don't know_ why_." I feel my way to his sink - my eyes are still mostly closed - and shove my face under the nozzle for some mouthwash. The mug is full of a miracle, I'm sure, but the after taste is downright horrid. I rinse and spit.

"I was in a puddle when I came 'round. It wasn't the stinky kind of puddle, which is always good." he reaches up, finds the mug, and producing a straw, drinks a little, hollowing his cheeks to get it into his mouth.

"How many stinky puddles have you woken up in, exactly?" I mumble, not really expecting an answer.

"Twelve." is a curt reply.

I stand up so fast I get severe headspin and Tony catches my arm as I start to teeter to the side.

"Not all of them were his own. I would know, because I was the one picking him up from them, in varying states of dress, composure, half dead-" Pepper has got this face like a snow queen on, but damn her, she's still like a goddess. "-which is what you're gonna be when you realise what time it is."

"Nine?" he tries.

"Twelve?" I'm more realistic.

"Four. In the afternoon. You had JARVIS lock me out." hands to hips, this is a bad sign. I suddenly feel like offering to help clean up and baking her something, but I can't put my abilities in the kitchen to the test, not when I feel like hurling into the sink.

"Awh, Pep-"

"Don't you Pep me!"

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"You could've been dead in here! Do you know how many times I had to scoop the vomit from the back of your throat, Tony? Do you know how many times you were nearly catatonic, and I was the one who picked you up? What about all the times I took care of the hookers and the floozies, and all the rest of your women and tramps who think that because they spread their legs they rule the god damn world-!" the tirade ends, because she's getting shriller, and shriller, choking up.

For all that panic, all that anger, she's just concerned for him.

My heart breaks a little.

"Ah, shit." now I'm guilty. I want to apologise but she's forgotten I'm even here.

"Yeah, you'd better skeddadle." Tony says, sitting up more fully.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HEAD?!"

"Well, shouting isn't helping-"

"TONY!"

"It's nothing, it's only a few stitches-"

"WHAT DID YOU _DO_?"

"I'll send those clothes to you." Tony promises as Pepper grabs a handful of his scalp and drags him down to eye level to better inspect his injury. "Just- ow! - go on, Happy'll take you home. JARVIS, direct Kitten to Happy?"

"Yes, sir. To your left, Miss Kitten."

"Uh... Nice meeting you..." I say, but it's tiny and awkward and a little bit sad.

* * *

So.

We got really drunk.

From what I gather, the mic was turned on sometime when Tony and I were hysterically laughing about something - I'm gonna go ahead and say we were smoking pot, because that's exactly what we sounded like we were doing.

A few hours after, the echoing bathroom scene.

"UGH, I feel like utter shit-"

Belching.

"I got your hair."

"Ugh, why won't I just throw up?!"

"You hold good liquor, for a dame."

"Shut up, Tony."

"Sure, Kitten."

"I'm not a kitten!" But I'm laughing again, breathlessly wheezing into the bowl.

He's chuckling too, and I hear a sloppy kiss - can't be on my mouth because I'm clearly saying: "Ewwww! Don't, I feel sick enough as is!"

"Meow?" he shouts another laugh and I join him, before we settle briefly.

"I think I'm gonna-" anxious pause. "No, no it's gone. Wait- wait-" the wet and solid sounds of vomit hitting the bowl.

"There you go, princess." Tony encourages. "Breathe. It's alright." there's the sound of him petting my shoulder, rubbing my back. I'm quietly sobbing now, and he makes a sad sound.

"You don't have to wipe my face." I sniff.

"You've got make up everywhere."

"You make me think about my dad when you care." It is the most pathetic sounding line ever uttered from my mouth, and you bet I'm blaming the alcohol still then in my system.

"I'm not that old. Don't cry, Kit. Blow." I can hear myself blowing my nose. "There ya go."

I sniffle.

"And daddy issues are never a good thing. Lookit what happened to Loki."

"I don't have daddy issues."

"That is literally what he said."

I sniff, and he sighs.

"I'm not cryin' any more, stop wipin' my face."

"It makes _me_ feel better." he says. "So shut up."

"I hate that you're so nice." But now I'm crying again.

"Don't tell any one, it's a secret."

More violent throwing up happens.

"Naw, poor Kitten." he says, and sighs. "It's alright, kid, I'm an expert. You just throw up lots now and you'll be okay. I'll look after you n'meantime."

"No one's looked after me, 'fore." I whisper quietly, into the rim of the toilet. "You won't even 'memeber this t'morrow, will you?"

"ARVIS!" he says. "SHARVIS! 'Mind me that I gotta look after this girl. Remind me tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Should I send for a proper doctor, sir?"

"Nah, nah. Doc's said she's okay. She's okay. You're okay."

Now he's petting my hair, because I'm making the low mewling noise I make when people do that. There's more vomit - more tears - more Tony promising to keep an eye on me, and look after me.

As I sit there and listen to it, it makes me feel a little sad I probably will never see him again. Plus, I still have his oily, sweaty man shirt in my hamper, somewhere.

* * *

The clothes came not a day after I was at home. Complete with shoes and more purses than I know what to do with.

It was adressed to: "Kitten."

...

But I have no idea why.


	3. The Good Doctor

_The Full and Complete Works of the Criticality Acclaimed, Best Selling Works of "Kitty" Black._

_The Avengers Interviews_

* * *

_The Good Doctor_

I've been told - by my wonderful not-boyfriend Nick - that for the purposes of the article, the next Avenger I meet up with can only be referred to as Hulk or Doc or any kind of affectionate nick name I like; just not his real name, for his safety.

When I meet him, he is not the angry, surly, dark heart I was expecting.

He looks tired, he looks weary, but he also looks friendly and kind eyed. He's got a nice salt 'n' pepper thing going on with his hair and a scruff on his jawline, chin and cheeks. There's a pen behind his ear and both his grey sleeves are wound up, one to the elbow, the other only half up his forearm.

"Hi." he says, and holds out his hand.

"Hi. I'm Eliza Black. It's nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine." he says, and smiles. "Tony told me your name was Kitten?"

"Not everything Tony Stark says is the gospel truth."

"It is in here." he lifts his hands, motions around to the lab/office/bedspace he has at Stark Tower.

"Ignore anything he says about daddy issues." I say.

"I read your article to uh, get an idea of what to expect. I thought it was funny."

"Hindsight's a marvellous thing." I say with a grin. "I guess you can call me Kitten, if you really want. It's grown on me, lil' bit."

His smile is just _charming_. He takes a second to look around, look for something to offer me, I guess - then he rubs his hands together, as though nervous all of a sudden.

"Coffee?"

"God, yes." I know I'm supposed to be professional, but I damn that notion when I think of the things he's already aware of me doing - like getting pissed with his kinda-sorta-whatever-they-are-to-each-other - and pull out a chair.

"How do you take it?"

"Mr. Hulk, I'll take it anyway you give it to me." I send him a quick grin to let him know I'm joking, in the event he's actually as socially awkward as I expect, and it makes him uncomfortable.

"I heard you two partying all night, last week. Four am he comes down with a split head, says he dove into his pool. Problem is, he doesn't have a pool that I know of, so I'm not sure where he did it." he slides a steaming cup across to me. "Also, he was concerned you had alcohol poisoning."

I wait for him to follow up, but he just tinkers in the kitchen.

"Did you... see?"

"Yes."

"How did I lose my pants?"

He lets out a laugh.

"You threw up on them. They were floating around in Tony's laundry somewhere. I averted my eyes, and Tony held your hair back, as you know."

"Awesome." I'm scowling at my own stupidity, and rub my head. "That's one way to make an impression."

"Yeah, he doesn't remember much, but he'll definitely remember you throwing a party he could keep up with."

"I meant on you, Doc." I smiled at him from behind my mug, and I'm surprised to see how bashful he is. "Naw. Don't be like that, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Hell, I was the one throwing up a week's worth of lunches."

"And laughing." he remembers. "Hysterical. You and Tony couldn't keep from cuddling, even if I was in between you. I mean that...literally."

"Gee, that makes me feel better."

"It was, for him, I mean... Uncharacteristic."

"Good word." I nod him on, and sip my drink. "He told me to watch out for the big words around you. He just makes up his own as he goes along."

"Yeah, tendency to do that. He's used to no one commenting on it, though, so it's good for him to have Nazis like you and I around, I guess." he leans his butt against the counter, both hands around his mug. Then, rather abruptly:

"I like your tattoo."

"Oh Jesus." Now I'm dying. My face is red. Any one who sees the tattoo asks about it, so I brace for impact, and how to explain away that one time in collage I was - again, shitfaced - and the tattooist boyfriend that came with it.

"If I could get one," he continues, which makes me relax. "I would. As is..." he pauses, seems to darken at the edges.

"These questions you gotta ask me..."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I just thought I should say that- maybe you should keep close to the door." he's not looking at me when he says this. "Just in case one of 'em hits a nerve."

"Doc?" I wait until he looks up at me. "I don't have specific questions. I'm not here to drag your life out for everyone to see. Well, that's what my boss wants - but he's not me, and if he thinks he can fire me, he can go for it. I'll just- I don't know, do something drastic in retaliation."

He quirks a smile.

"I'm sensing a back story."

I shrug.

"He was my boyfriend. Now he's my boss. And he's dating my ex-sister-in-law, who wasn't single when they started dating."

"Ouch."

"Mm. Double whammy." Is all I say - because now it's time to change the conversation before_** I **_Hulk out. "Have any shitty ex's?"

"Yeah. A few."

"Craziest thing she did?"

"Cut my hair."

"That's not so bad."

"I was asleep."

"Oooh. Creepy hair cutting, not 'don't waste your money on a salon', cutting."

"Yeah. I mean... I wasn't always... best boyfriend material. People say I'm pretty cut off."

I raise my brows at him.

"I'm not getting that vibe." I say, quite honestly.

"Thanks, Kitten." he muses, which makes me scowl.

"Okay, I meant, use it sparingly."

"You demanded I call you Kitten when your head was in the bowl. And you made JARVIS do it too."

"Yes," says the dry butler voice. "You did, Miss Kitten."

I sip my drink, pointedly ignore the AI.

"I'm going to beat you up, Doc."

He chuckles mildly.

"How did you handle the invasion, anyway?"

"Brute force."

"Not something I'm a stranger to. I was looking for specifics."

"I'll disregard the blatant attempt to steer me away from asking you questions and tell you that I had some pretty innocent people around me."

"That can't be it. There was only a few other notable heroic civilians that day, what made you that brave?"

There's honesty and then there's sarcastic honesty.

"I was PMSing."

He snorts his drink through his nose, a hand flying up to catch it - which he doesn't, not really. It splashes out from behind his hand and goes everywhere, luckily, avoiding me. He turns and puts his face in the sink, half choking. I casually saunter over to him, still sipping my own coffee, and pat his shoulder.

He finishes spluttering to wipe his mouth and smile back at me.

"Okay. You're actually a funny person. I was worried you were elaborating."

"Everything I wrote was exactly as it happened. Well, barr the things Nick had me sworn to omit."

"What did he say about you calling him Nick?"

"Eh. I don't know. I haven't seen him since he wondered up to my workplace and asked me to for these interviews. Were they his idea?"

"As far as I know. Stark wasn't keen; no one was. It seemed really... Unnecessary."

"It is a little excessive. I don't need a whole day."

"I guess he wanted you to do a lot of talking." he shrugs, wipes his face again, and tips the rest of his coffee in the sink. "I think we should go out. It's getting pretty hard to look at these four walls."

"Sure." I say, and we engaged in some idle chatter before anything interesting happens, at the coffee shop. Doc is instantly honing in on the deserts; he's got a full row of sweet teeth, and orders two slices of cake before the coffee.

We split the bill, which is simple and nice, not at all awkward, the way it is, sometimes between friends. And hey, I've known the guy all of an hour.

He digs in to the double mud chocolate cake on his plate while I sit back and enjoy the ambiance of the place. My coffee is pretty sweet, for only two sugars, so I imagine his is about to give him diabetes, cuz he requested four.

"So, why d'you write?" he says, after sipping his tea.

"Because I don't really have anything else to do with myself." I return. "You're already deflecting, Doc. Relax. It's only ten a.m. I have hours to get to nitty and gritty."

"Not a early riser, huh?" he slices the cake with the side of his fork, and almost swallows it whole.

"Not in the least. Never have been. I'm on auto pilot for a lot of my morning - you know, get up, in a shower, make myself presentable, go for a run, have another shower."

"Why do you shower twice?"

"Mostly because I never feel like running before the first shower. And, I'm still waking up by then." I grin. "What about you?"

He shrugs a shoulder, sips the tea to help aid the cake slide down his gullet.

"I get pretty bad insomnia every now and then. I sleep when I can. Although I don't really like it. I..." he looks like he's chewing over the thought of telling me, not just chewing delicious chocolate pastries. "I get nightmares. Like the Other Guy is trying to show me things."

"Do you every listen to him?"

He shakes his head.

"He's always angry. The whole world is against him. I listened, without knowing, for a long time but-... I only listen sometimes, now. When he says things that make sense. Mostly, it's a lot of... yelling. He, bellows."

"In your head?"

He takes his time, swishes some cake around his mouth, stabs the strawberry slice with vigour.

"No. It's like he's in my ear."

He shoved the cream filled strawberry in between his back teeth and munches it, looking bashful, and shy, under my eyes. I just sip my coffee, because I hate making people feel that way.

"Sorry." I say.

"Don't be."

"I feel like I'm prying you open with a crowbar."

"Nah. I'm just not used to people knowing. You're taking it pretty well."

"You're not a scary guy, Doc."

"I can be."

"We all can be." I tap the side of my head. "You don't think I Hulk out every now and again? Sure, I don't grow exponentially in size and have massive amounts of strength, but, I do succumb to my rage. My inner angry speaks to me just the same."

"But yours doesn't like to kill people." he says thickly.

"Trust me, she's come close a few times." I reply wistfully. "Nick had to ask some pretty nosy questions concerning all assault charges on my record."

"Any of them concerning that boss and that sister-in-law?"

"Ex, sister in law." I am quick to correct him with a grin.

"I see." he muses, and finishes his cake. He sets it down and eyes the other slice.

"Go on, Doc. It's too early for me."

"I haven't slept in two days." He says, sliding the plate across to his side. "I think I need sleep."

"Does the cake help?"

"Not to sleep, it doesn't." he sips his tea. "I don't get much time to enjoy stuff like this. Chocolate cake isn't a world wide love affair, unfortunately."

"I am appalled at this development." I tell him, quite seriously. "I shall have it rectified if it is the last thing I do. I'll take it to Pepper, surely her dissatisfaction with this will be enough to aid me in my quest."

"Don't mock me." he says with a tiny smile "You've never had to unwillingly give up creature comforts like cake for years at a time."

I laugh loudly, and for a full twenty two seconds.

"Doc! I'm a_ writer_. In _Manhattan_. I've slummed a day or two. Cake had been the last thing on my mind since my twelfth birthday party."

"True." he seems apologetic about that, and changes the subject. "Never mind. I sometimes forget not every body is living the high life I think they are - that's the Other Guy talking. He thinks that every one has got it so easy. Makes me forget." he shifts in his seat, sips his tea again, then smiles at me through the steam.

"I went and made it all heavy, didn't I?"

"I should probably take my job a little more seriously." I tell him, and consider that train of thought. "I haven't had a lot of experience with interviews, per se."

"I think you're doing okay." he encourages, which actually makes my life seem a bit brighter. "You're not asking a ton of questions aimed to drag out the worst in me. Trust me, you don't want me to drag him out."

"No way, man. Not in public, at least."

"So, how old are you?"

I do give him the right and honest answer - between 20 and 26 - but don't divulge just how old I actually am. He mourns being my age, but won't tell me how old he is in return, he just leaves it between 30 and 50.

He finishes the cake; we meander a while around a park. It's all so civilian, so normal. Then I accidentally turn him onto the conversation of his work, and suddenly he's skipping to get back to his lab, eager to explain - with visuals - exactly what it is he does.

All I know from the big words he's used (shut up, Tony,) is that we have to wear safety goggles and thick gloves that travel all the way up to my elbow. He's setting up a pale coloured liquid and a magnet looking device, and telling me all the wonderful things that it will do, once he's refined it a little.

"I have hopes of curing cancer." he says, which is about all that I understand. "It's a genetic mutation of cells, and I think that a serum, altered enough by gamma radiation to find these cells and mutate them back into a regular state could be the answer. It's just a case of handling gamma carefully enough so that the cells it attaches to don't mutate even further." he comes to stand with me behind his desk, and hands me a remote with a big red button.

"Red buttons are typically about not pressing, aren't they?"

"I'm a little clichéd mad scientist. Tony encourages it."

"Of course he does. So... Slowly, and in human..." I glance at the somewhat elaborate set up, the one pale blue vial, and the various wires criss crossing to form the machine. "What exactly is going to happen?"

He gives me the kindest, most easy smile he has all day.

"Magic." he says, and nods to the button.

I watch the liquid intensely, then slid my thumb over the button and click it.

For a second, there's a brief blast of bright light. Then the chemical ignites, and fizzles, bubbling away in the confines of it's glass container. The pale blue is now merely a white, all bubbles, and I think that the reaction is it when Hulk catches my arm.

"Wait. Watch." he seems enthralled.

I focus on the bubbles. The top part of it is beginning to raise, to fill up to the top. It bubbles up past the rim, but not over it, it's just a straight column in the air. I'm already majorly impressed, but then it goes and gets better.

My hand flies out and whacks Doc on the chest, over his heart, and I grab a handful of his shirt, bouncing a little.

"Oh my God! Oh my-! Oh my actual god!" I'm jumping, I can not actually believe my eyes. I feel Doc's hand clasping around my wrist - probably so I stop abusing him - but the grip is not unkind.

What raises from the bubbles is a fairy.

It has to be. That's what it looks like and that's what I want it to be. The little girl in my head is crying for it, so relieved for it, she's hysterical because there's a fairy in the room and I get to witness it for real.

It flutters delicately in the air for a while, blue tinged, as a pleasant hum fills the air. Doc has another hand on a control stick, and is carefully manoeuvring the magnets to make the little ball of light move from side to side, leaving a tail of pale light staining the air.

"Oh, my God! Oh- Oh cool, so, so cool!"

"Breathe." he reminds me.

"Oh, I can't- Doc this - this is real! This! My God!"

"Not to sound creepy, but I need you to touch it." he says, and leads me by the hand on his chest, because I'm too busy freaking out. "Just be slow. No sudden movements."

"What is-! I can't! Is it real-?!"

"It's-" insert long, complicated word here. "It's energy. Thor told us they're pretty much the pollen in plants, from where he comes from - he said that they were used in Asgaurdian medicine, so hopefully this is the answer, to cancer."

I reach out my gloved hand for it. I can feel it resonating through my palm and fingertips, like the aftermath of vibration. It's got a warmth about it, and I can see tiny flecks of pure white light making up it's centre.

Doc carefully pushes my arm up until it's resting on my fingertip. It hums loudly for a second, then, with another burst of bright white light, turns a shocking shade of magenta. It looks like something Aphrodite (the Greek goddess of love, for those unaware), might cry. These are the tears of a goddess of love, I'm sure of it.

"Wow." he says, as I am further enraptured by the Asgaurdian pollen - the goddess' tears - tiny pink fairy. "I haven't seen it do that before."

"Do what?" I whisper, because talking is ruining the moment.

"That colour." he says, and carefully siphons it off my finger - it turns an electric shade of green. "They sense your...Aura, for lack of a better word. Most aren't very special. Mine's - for obvious reasons - green. Tony's got a white one with a blue line through the middle. Pepper has a nearly pale orange red. Thor and Jane won't tell me what their ones were." he seems a little frustrated by this.

I would die to know the answer. I want to know the colour of everyone's aura.

"But the bright colours, the ones vivid like yours, usually mean something." he smiles at the side of my face, lets me reclaim the pollen. "Having fun?"

* * *

Doc lets me play with science for a good, long while.

I think he recognises how much of a nerd I am, because I start firing questions at him, getting him to explain things to me.

While the pollen is my colour pink, he keeps it in a storage with lots of other pollens. He says Thor claims that different colours will do different things, so he's exposing it to everyone he thinks suitable for testing.

We do various other experiments he's been meaning to do, with my laptop open and taking notes of everything that happens. We do this well past lunchtime, and it's only hours later - with those same long hours full on audio I'm not at liberty to discuss (Nick!) - when I'm starting to feel absolutely weak from hunger, that we go and find some Chinese place down the road.

I'm usually the only one eating with chopsticks in my social circle, but the good doctor is a total an utter_ boss_. I'm allowed to break out with this colloquialism, because hey. I'm dining with a guy who made me a flower from another dimension.

Why the Hell not.

We eat a lot of food. Up in the room, he starts to teach me a bunch of foreign card games - two out of three, I absolutely rock. The next one not involving chance, I flunk, and flunk, and flunk. It so happens that, within the space of four and a half hours, we go from perched on the edge of the bed, to sitting cross legged in the middle; then we recline onto our sides, propped up by uncomfortable elbows.

We trade elbows for pillows.

And I end up spooning him.

* * *

There's a bunch of cards stuck to my arm, and a bunch bent and torn under my legs.

Doc is in the fetal position and I'm right up against him, Big Spoon, tucked in tight behind him. I've got drool on his pillow - better than in his hair - and my arm is tightly wound around his chest.

One side of me is bitterly cold, the other, too warm. I yawn and look around, wonder where I am and who I'm snuggling with.

When I move, he shifts, his fingers loosely linked with mine. I blink at the flat scruff of his head for all of three seconds before he looks over his shoulder, one eye half closed.

"Did we...?"

"We so did." I, never a morning person, go right back to where I was, Big Spoonin' away like a champ. "You bet we did, Doc. So hardcore, you don't even know. You rocked my world."

"I...am confused."

"We fell asleep." I yawn, hide my face against his shoulder. "You said two days you've been awake, right?"

"Yeah..."

I manage to wiggle the blanket over the cold side of us.

"I don't like being conscious before the clock has two digits on it." I tell his hair, which smells like Herbal Essences. It's a wonder I didn't chew on him, I love this flavour, and he wears it so well.

"I see." he murmurs, then lifts his arm and lets mine retreat for some muchly needed circulation. "Roll over, then."

So I do.

He plays Big Spoon.

And he's a great spooner, ladies.

But he snores.

Just a lil' bit.

* * *

My Stark gifted clothes are pretty much wrecked, but I'll figure out a way to save them, even if I have several wardrobes full. I don't bother putting shoes on as we potter around the kitchen, strangely in tandem, making toast and coffee.

Now he knows how I like my coffee.

I have doubts I'm going to want to leave him behind.

By the time my time is up... I stay behind another two hours. We watch Ellen and he confides in me a few secrets I've been sworn to protect 'till my last breath. It's good, just to know this person, not the scientist or the giant green man. He is, after all, mostly human.

When it's time to say goodbye, I go in for a hug, and he keeps me there, rubbing my back.

"If you need me," I say, "For the Asgauridan flower thing, for nap time-"

He laughs.

"I'll come. Seriously, Doc," I pull away and hold onto him by the shoulders. "If you can't sleep and I'm your cure, I will scoot my ass into your bed and make it happen. I had a great time. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." he says. "I... I really enjoyed having you over."

We embrace again, and he promises to keep in touch. I give him my e-mail, and have one waiting for me when I get home.

It's a photo that I'm not allowed to show, of my bright pink flower bud amongst all the other more pale and subdued flower buds. It's so pretty, and I tell him I love it, by sending him a box of chocolate cupcakes, because you know...

The path to a man's heart is through his stomach, or something.


	4. Captain Spandex

_The Full and Complete Works of the Critically Acclaimed, Best Selling Works of "Kitty" Black._

_The Avengers Interviews_

* * *

_Captain Spandex_

Captain America. All 'round 'Merican boy. Sweetest man I ever did meet. Personification of puppy love.

When I first saw him, I looked up to see his face, trying very hard to ignore the biceps swinging out of the tighter than skin t-shirt that looks like it's threatening to rip open, mostly because he's_ breathing_.

"Hello." he sounds so careful.

"Hello, Captain." I regret nothing, but I do sound a bit like I'm swooning.

"Please ma'am, it's Steve." he looks at his state of dress, which is jeans and a shirt. "I'm so sorry, I didn't remember you were coming until Tony paged me to say you were waiting."

"Oh, that's fine. I've only been here a few minutes. Don't worry about it."

He smiles.

"I understand you have some questions for me?"

I'm shocked to listen to the audio and the giggle that falls out of my mouth. I don't remember that. It may be repressed, or it may be the inner tough-girl smacking the crap out of the flirt who's making that sound.

"Oh geeze." I say. "You're just something else, aren't you?"

There's a pause - I seem to remember me just smiling up at his gorgeous face, beaming, hoping he would sweep me up in his bloody fantastic arms and take me away to a castle somewhere. There'd be a sunset, dancing, a huge cake. I'd never have to work out again and he could just sit there and continue to be lovely. Hulk could come and make a bunch of Asgaurdian flowers, and then I could die happy.

"The questions." I say, blinking prominently.

_Eyes on his face, Black. He's not a piece of meat._

Technically.

"Sure. Sure. The questions." I'm nodding so I can try and distract myself from perving. "Your apartment?"

"Of course." he hangs his head and I can't figure out what he's embarrassed by until he goes ahead and says it. "I'll be sleeping on the couch, you can have my bed."

"Oh, Steve, that's not necessary- If it's so uncomfortable I'll just, find another place. I'll go see Hulk again, it's not a big deal."

"The deal is for you to stay through the routine." he amends.

"I have been meaning to see him. No one has to know."

"I will." he says, a little sheepishly.

"Well, don't stress, we'll work something out."

I'm mothering him. I don't want to mother him. It's weird to mother him, he's so..._ Forties,_ it's really one of the last things I wanna be doing. But by god, it's happening.

He leads me to his makeshift place at Stark Tower, because you know, they all apparently moved there for my benefit. He makes us a hot chocolate - with marshmallows because this guy's a certified gem - and shows me around his place.

"I stay here most when I need a bit of time to myself. I like staying with everybody else, but I can't, not all the time. And it's good for me to keep in touch with Tony. Otherwise I forget how he is, and I end up frustrated when we need to work together."

"That sounds fair enough."

He's got the iconic picture of the kissing people in the street, blown up, framed on his wall.

I laugh at it, and go and inspect it further.

"Tony put it there." he says awkwardly. "I like it, I mean, it's good to see how happy they are. But I don't need to see it all the time."

"Ah, it's just celebration. He's harmless, Tony. Well..." I reconsider. "Not harmless. Decidedly not harmless. But he's just teasing."

"He always is, ma'am."

We study the picture for a little while longer, sipping our drinks.

"You make a mean cup of coco, Cap."

"Thank you. I used to get sick a lot, this was something that made me feel better. Somethings don't change."

I try not to be hurt about the fact he's practically telling me my presence is making him feel sick.

"Looks like you did."

"Yeah, I sure did."

"What was it like?" Everybody knows Captain America is product of a lab, but every body also knows he's got feats for saving hundreds of lives in one go.

"It was... Bright."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes." he nods vigorously, and he blinks at me. "Do you want to start the interview now?"

"I think you need to calm down a bit. Have you read what I did with Doc and Stark?"

Now, he blushes all the way down his neck, looks guilty as hell. He swirls his chocolate around and says in a very awkward way: "I, uh, haven't had the uh, time."

"That's why you're nervous!" I snort. "Steven, I'm not into the whole interrogation thing. It's easy, with me. We just talk, and you _can_ say 'no'. Got your rape whistle handy?"

Aaaaand that joke, flew right over his head.

"Rape whistle. It's a really loud whistle women use when they think that 'no' isn't enough... I'm not going to rape you." I say, just to clarify "Have a seat, hm? Relax. Take a load off. Seriously, you're making me anxious, sit down."

"Sorry." he says. "I don't mean to do that. It's just - the media and I don't have the best relationship."

"Yeah, you and I both."

He's a little confused.

"Between bitter, old school rivalry and my preferred method of writing - honesty - I don't get much work, exactly. Do you know how I got into Nick's line of vision?"

He laughs a little at the name, but shakes his head.

"Sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. You were busy. I'll have to show you how to use a computer. When the invasion happened, I kicked some alien ass, won an award. Then they wouldn't leave me alone for ages - I was begged to do interviews and TV appearances endorse some crappy diet pills and tell people that's what I was on. I didn't do any of it, I invested in a rape whistle."

He smiles, the kind of smile that lets you in on the pain two people share.

"For what it's worth, Steve... I think you're tougher than people give you credit for." I watch his face.

He is classically good looking, all hard lines and sharp contrasts. His jaw is phenomenal in it's structure - juxtaposed by the roundness of his pouted bottom lip. He's a sandy blonde, neatly styled, blue eyed, All American solider. The shoulders are so wide it's like looking at a kingsize bed with humanoid features and limbs.

Don't worry Nick, honey, nothing particularly definitive in that description, is there?

"Concerning what?"

I blink again, lost in thought.

"You're..." I take a deep, slow breath. "Homesick, from another era. I couldn't imagine it. Waking up seventy years from now. It'd kill a lesser man. It'd kill_ me_."

He doesn't say anything. The silence is heavy, and it's sad. But I can't pull up from it. It was easy to keep things going with Tony - there was alcohol involved. Hulk is just a gem, even his dark places have silver linings.

But Steve... Steve is stuck. And he's stuck in this historical rut. _And no one gets it._

"The people I knew then," I continue, because I'm thinking more about the repercussions of unwilling time travel. "To know had become of them now. Hell, the people I didn't know, the way they behave on the street, in the media. _Everything_ has changed in seventy years."

There's another silence, and I think that at this time I reflect on how deep we've gone.

"Holy shit. I'm sorry. I took us there, that was my fault."

He makes a sound. He makes the same sound again, but I can't exactly hear him, not even when I replay the tape on full volume.

"Excuse me?"

"No. No. Don't- Don't be sorry. No one... I think- I think it's time." his cup is put down on the table with decisive purpose. He leans back in his chair, and grips the sides hard enough for the wood to groan in agony.

"Steve, you don't have to."

"There are some things I'd like to say." he murmurs, then clears his throat. "Please."

I nod. And then I wait, because the wood is upsetting and he's sinking into a place, seventy years long gone.

"When I was last alive, there was more, and there was less, to_ being _alive. Even without-... without the Nazis, without the war. Marriage. Honesty. Poverty. Gettin' a girl. Bein' a proper man. There was honour and valour going on everyday. You didn't ogle a lady if you didn't want to have the snot beat out of you, but now there are ladies in skirts so high I wonder why they even bother gettin' dressed in the morning."

"We don't call 'em ladies, either." I remind him.

"I just can't wrap my head around most things." he continues. Those baby blues aren't baby blue any more, they're steely grey, reinforced from the inside. From the cute boy with big shoulders I see the solider rise.

"What gets to you the most?"

There's a pause.

"Things on TV."

"Like what?"

"Everything. The movies - all the story lines - all the- what's it called? CJI?"

"Computer Generated Images?"

"Yeah. Those. I mean _geeze_. The things people can make you see - I've never had dreams so vivid before. And the stories are all weird, too. Like the show about the island, they crash their plane down onto it..."

"Lost?"

"Yeah." he nods me along.

"No one understands that show, they made it up on the fly." I snort.

"But there's more. More shows that have been planned. People script these out, and they're all-That show-" he stabs his finger at me, like it's my fault. "-MASH, or whatever it is, makes light of war. That isn't funny. That's _war_."

I don't say anything, because how can you explain what it's supposed to be to a man who's just stepped out of WW2?

"And- the models. They're all so thin I could break them - and I hear so many stories about girls gettin' sick over how they ain't thin. I see a ton'a fat people all the time, and I don't care they're fat, just like I don't care if a person's skinny or not it's just... People seem to think there's this idea of the perfect size, and do you know who that reminds me of? Hitler."

He throws his hands up in the air.

"I don't get it. I don't understand. I just- Don't." he makes a very frustrated noise. "It's like everything has changed, but it's all the same. The same kind of bullies trying to tell you how to look. The same kind of people just being vicious for viciousness sake. The same problems, only amplified - the same poverty, the same hunger..."

His eyes are boiling. He's angry, his lips are pulling together to draw a straight line.

"It's everywhere, still! And there's so many ways to help other people, but no one's doin' a damn thing about it. You know what I was doin' when I was a kid? Prayin'. I prayed for the starvin' people the world over to get them better. I was gonna help. I was gonna be a solider, stand up for the rights of people who couldn't do it for themselves."

He shrugs.

"And all those men that we lost... all those men that _every one _lost - even them Nazis, they were just men with orders like I was. All of them had kids and wives and brothers, they were all someone's son, someone's man, someone's best friend..."

He's winding back down now. There's not much I can do to help him, but God, I want to. He's hurt by it all, and he's right, too. Why don't we do what our grandparents wished they could've done, only seventy years ago?

"There's so much to lose. So much we've lost. So much that keeps being lost every day. And I have to sit around and play nice with the press, all over again, instead of goin' out there to help. I've got strength and speed and trainin' behind me, but yet I'm still just a dancin' monkey."

He trails off in a mumble, and takes a deep breath in, the expanse of his chest nearly doubling.

I lean over and clutch his knee for comfort, because now I feel useless listening to the trauma.

"Feel a bit better?"

He rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrub away the scowl, I think.

"Everything's definitely changed." he says quietly. He sees my hand on his knee and stares at it, before staring at me.

The baby blue is back, and so is the blush.

"Easy, cowboy, I'm not hittin' on you."

"Oh. Good." then he flushes more thoroughly "It's not that I wouldn't mind- I mean, you're very pretty and that dress is very nice- Not that I was looking at your dress; I mean, it's a nice dress- All the other women I met up with so far have tried to- I just meant that I don't get the, uh, cues any more...Not that I ever did."

"You make me want to squish your face." I tell him seriously. "In my boobs. Not to be forward or anything."

He kind of, gapes, and I smack his knee.

"I was kidding, Cap."

"OH." he lets a big rush of air out of his mouth, and tries to laugh. "Oh, right..."

"Disappointed? I can change that."

He looks pained.

"I can't tell if you're kidding or not."

"I know. I'm sorry." I laugh and sit back in my chair. "I'm being purposely cruel to you, and it's not good of me. I just want you to smile again."

So he does, but he looks at his shoes while he's doing it.

"Hey. Anyone shown you a computer yet?"

"Stark is always on his... Most of 'em don't even look like computers."

"Yeah, they don't to the rest of us, either. Well, we've got time. I don't see how this is going to be a detriment to your life; unless, of course, you get addicted to online games, or- Just, trust me, don't look up Avengers fanfiction. You'll have a heart attack, weather or not that's physically possible for you, it'll happen."

He just blinks.

I flip open his phone, which has Tony on speed dial. I show him how to bring it up and hit the green button, and how to put it on speaker.

"Cap, always a pleasure!"

"Tony, it's Kitten."

"EYYY. Kit! What're you doin' with my boy? No trouble? If there's trouble, I'm comin'!"

"You've had your turn, Tone." I say with a repressed laugh. "And I'm pretty sure I can hear Pepper having a go at you in the background."

"She'll be fine. She just wants me for my body." there's a dull thud. "Now Pep, no need for rudeness, I'll get to you in a minute. What can I do you for, Kit?"

"We need a computer. With a working internet connection. Nothing overly fancy. I expect at least a desktop." I look at Steve. "Do you want a touch screen?"

"Does it... change, anything?" he mutters quietly, but Tony hears him.

"Don't be silly. I'll send both in the one machine." Tony says with a yawn. "How're you treatin' our dear Cap? Got your claws in him, Kit?"

"Not my type." I return, mostly to put Steve's mind at ease, because he's _everyone's_ type. Those who don't think so, aren't looking properly. "How're you and Pepper?"

"Peaches 'n' cream, babydoll. That computer is on the way, with something shiny to put it on. Hope I see you soon, don't do anything I wouldn't."

"I'll do everything you wouldn't." I retort. "I'm working, Tony, I won't see you soon at all."

"I'm mortified. We'll do drinks again. Invite the crew. You met Thor yet?"

"I have to go, there are things I need to do!"

"He'll out drink you, you know. So will Widow. She's got vodka in her blood."

"Hey, vodka isn't my drink." I defend.

"D'joo know Cap can't get drunk? He can't actually get drunk. He'd win out of us all. Did you know that? Did he mention that?"

"Oh really?"

Now, I have somewhat of a competitive streak. It's a mile long. I grew up the baby of a family, so naturally, I'm game to go hard. There is no, 'go home' option, there never has been.

I stop wondering about maybe scheming with Doc to cook up something potent for Steve to get drunk, because you know, that's mean. I don't want to engage this target, so I scoff.

"Goin' now, Tony. Give my love to Pepper."

"I give all love to Pepper." he coos. He's a shmuck. Seriously. It's kind of endearing. "Yours'll get lost in the pile."

"Well tell her we said hi. We're going now."

"Bye." Steve says, lowering his mouth to the receiver.

Then I hit the red button and we answer the door. Setting up one of Tony Stark's computers - as well as the Stark Approved desk - is a bit like a relationship test. It's like getting something from IKEA. It looks easy enough and it should be... But neither of us is keen to really read the instructions, so we decide to wing it.

Me: "Got a nut that'll fit this?"

Him: "I think you've got the nuts..."

Me: "I get all the nuts."

Pause. Fumbling, screaming metal sounds.

Him: "Uh...I think I broke it."

Me: "No, I think that's supposed to bend that way. It's fine...Does this look right?"

Him: "Is it supposed to be this loose?"

Me: "Oooh, that's why it doesn't fit. This is _upside down._"

Pause. Pages turning, my half breathed swear words.

Him: "Where's the picture?"

Me: "Next to you."

Him: "Huh."

Me: "Does it look right?"

Him: "...No."

Me: "Bugger. Can you pass the wrench?"

Him: "That needs a hammer."

Me: "I'll make it work."

BANG BANG BANG THWONK.

Me: "So... I've done this wrong... I can't get the nail out..."

"Oh, sure, I got it." and he plucks it with nothing but his bare hands. "I don't get this. When did tables get so complicated?"

"It's Tony Stark we're talking here, is anything ever simple?"

He snorts.

"Why is there so much chrome?" he wants to know.

"And glass. It's hard to keep clean. OW. My-" I drop a long line of swear words as Steve gets up and gets me a face cloth, wrapping it around my sliced open hand. "This is going well."

We pause to assess the damage and tend our (my) injuries. Steve's an utter gentleman; when we eventually retreat and go out, and he insists on paying my half of the food. I don't struggle much because I can see he's anticipating the fight, and is ready to push my money at me all night if he has to.

"How many ladies have you taken out in the modern, Mister?"

He's got a big plate of pasta, red sauce, and is twirling it around his fork like an expert. He ducks his head, grins at the napkin on his lap.

"Just one. Or, two."

"Oh? And those one or two lady dates... How'd they fare?"

He swallows.

"Frightening."

That makes me laugh into my tomato soup, because he actually looks a little intimidated.

"Tell me about it."

He tells me about a seemingly nice girl he picked up at some kind of press conference. She gave him somewhere to be and a time, and showed up half an hour late, no explanation no apology. He had thought it was maybe just a friendly date, but she bombarded him with questions about Nick (my boyfriend. Yeah, you read that right. We're totally a thing, now.)

She ended up being some kind of high level political game player.

The next one was pretty much because Tony threw them together during one of Steve's workouts... You know, literally, in a locked room in which Steven was a hot, half dressed, sweaty mess. He ended up squirming through two hours of fan-girl questions before breaking the door open with nothing but brute force, which is my favourite weapon.

"It's scary how much information people are open to getting, these days. And how easy. This girl was flingin' questions at me, rapid fire."

"Like I've been doing all day?" I say lightly.

"No." he shakes his head. "Not like you, at all."

We finish our meal and indulge in a bit of ice cream. Our waiter is male and is hitting on Steve, but it's flying right over his head. They're in the middle of a particularly smile-y and arm touch-y conversation when he gets called away to another table.

I watch Steve eat his ice cream, watch him shake hands and say goodbye to his potential boyfriend. I take his forearm, which surprises him, and lead him out of the coffee shop.

"So you make a lot of friends like that?"

"Most people don't, but he was nice." he says with a smile. "I like talking to people."

"He definitely loved talking to you." I'm just staring at the side of his stupidly handsome face. He doesn't get it. "Steven."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Do you know what homosexuality is?"

Now, let me get this straight. One of my brothers is gay. I don't care. If you can say that you shouldn't judge a person on looks, the colour of their skin, or race, then I say gender shouldn't really matter either. But from the 40's to now... I was concerned.

"Yeah?" his brow furrows. "Why?"

"That guy was keen on you." I tell him. "Were you aware of that?"

He flushes a little, and shrugs one arm, but doesn't stop walking.

"No, I didn't know that."

I keep staring.

"It's not a- problem." he says, looking at me. "I don't mind it, more'n usual, or anything."

"Good." I say, and relax. "I really like you, Cap, I didn't want to have to get defensive over anything. I may have torn you a new hole; I wield words like weapons, you know."

"Not that you need 'em." he smiles.

"Not at all. But they cause less mess, more damage."

"That is true." he nods.

We wonder through the town arm in arm - I pick up a six pack of assorted cupcakes for Hulk, just because I can. Steve mentions he has to pick up a carton of milk from next door, so while I'm there I get a Captain America themed cupcake, which has his shield insignia as a design.

He grins when he sees it, flushes a pretty pink. Two college girls give him equal looks of mortification when they see that nice guy smile, and look then to who it's aimed at. They gawk the entire time we pass, but Steven is oblivious to this as well, thanking me repeatedly for my meagre gift.

I feel a bit like I'm dating Brad Pitt.

Or maybe that guy who plays Sherlock Holmes in that movie, he's hot stuff too.

* * *

The desk is finished, and the computers are up and running.

"You're" is flashing on one screen. "Welcome!" is on the other.

"And now we owe him a favour." Steve grumps. "That's all I need."

"Call it even, after your fan-girl in the gym." I hold up my six pack of cupcakes. "Is is okay if I go ahead and drop these off? I know, I'm terrible, but you can have a shower and I definitely think more coco will be needed for the computer lesson."

"That sounds like a plan, ma'am." And he actually salutes me, though he's grinning while he does it.

I peer through the window to see the bright flash of light, forming a new Asgaurdian pollen. I grin because I can see Doc's got his head in the clouds while his nose is in a book, and some woman bustles past me with files stacked well above her face, so she misses me by inches - and only because I scoot out of her way.

"Jane, while you're gone-?"

"She's already gone." I beam at him.

He looks up, takes his eye wear off, gives me a big, tired smile.

"Kitten, what're you doing here?"

"Steve." I feel myself blushing - shit, it's contagious. "I mean, I'm not doing Steve. It's his interview day. I figure that, we've already called Tony for computers, so I come baring gifts." I show him the cup cakes.

"You, are trouble." he says. "My sugar intake does not need help from you."

"So I'll take them back?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Set 'em down over here."

I do, and give him a hug around the neck.

"Woah, have you lost weight?" I say, and am now concernedly poking him in the chest.

"A little." he says lightly, but he's looking a bit grey in the face.

"Have you been eating?"

"A little." is the reply, again. He waves it away. "Jane and I got onto something. We're getting close."

Because I can keep up with his conversation - after emails back and forth discussing his theories to a new pair of eyes, like maybe I could help him some - he tells me what he can without it being a federal offence and or boring me to death.

"But enough about that." He rubs my arm. "How is Steve's interview going?"

"It's going." I check my watch - I've been gone forty five minutes. "Oops. I lost a bit of time."

"My fault." he says. "Sorry. Got to talking."

"Don't apologise, it's not like I didn't spur you on." I give him a quick hug. "I'll see you again soon, okay?"

The woman named Jane dumps a stack of notebooks beside the door and goes back for more. I wink over my shoulder and get the door for her, to which she mutters an oblivious: "Thanks Darcy!"

I have no idea who Darcy is, but I say: "You're welcome" so she isn't being rude.

Steve, in the mean time, has showered, dressed, and lifts his head from the computer with a relieved sigh.

"Thank God." he says. "I'll make coco. Can you tell me how this thing is supposed to work? I get I type with the keyboard, but nothing I type goes anywhere or does anything."

It's because it's on the home screen. I blink, contain hilarity, exhale so I'm calm.

"Oh, I see. This is the touch screen. Let me just plug the mouse in so we can start slow and work our way up."

"The mouse?" he peers over my shoulder as I bring the box up and start rummaging for a mouse. "You're not scared of mice?"

Again repressing the hilarity, I show him the little hand held device used in conjunction with computers, the long wire that's reminiscent of a tail.

"This, is a mouse," I say, and watch him stretch out a finger and poke it. "You use to to make commands."

"I've been telling it to open. I asked nicely in English, and in broken German." he points at the computer. "It must be faulty."

...

I have a feeling I'm going to be repressing a lot of laughter by the end of this.

* * *

I teach what I can to Captain Spandex, but it isn't easy, because when he starts to ask 'how', things get complicated. So far, he's able to open his emails (not send them), the point of Google hasn't exactly sunk in yet, and YouTube - forget about it.

I also make sure that my articles are in his inbox, and subscribe him to my newsletter - because I'm wicked like that, and it means he doesn't have to run around and get them.

He's more excited about scanning his drawings into the computer. Not that he does anything when they're in there, he just likes seeing them on a screen. Maybe one day we will progress to digital artistry, but I sense that there may be a little bit of time between then and now.

After another mug of coco and a small portion of his cupcake, we sit down and put Gone with The Wind on for his viewing pleasure. He gets really involved and I gotta say that I'm a sucker for Rhett Butler, but I don't make it through the movie consciously.

I'm dead to the world when he puts his arms underneath my back and knees and lifts me. I don't actually remember any of it, which is why I get to hear it for the first time at home, blushing, wanting to sink into my chair and die.

"Mmwake."

"No you're not."

"I'll have th' couch." I protest mildly.

"Stop struggling. I'll drop you."

The next part makes me cringe.

"No you won't." I'm giggling again. "I'll snuggle you. M'a great spooner."

"I don't actually know what that means." he doesn't sound particularly flustered, probably because it sounds like I'm wrestling with him. "Come on, give a guy a break?...That's better. Hold on to me."

"You're really warm." I swoon. "And soft."

"Uh..."

"And _hard_."

"Thank you...?"

"Like'n 'letric blanket." I sigh, swoon once more, become utterly content. "Spoon me?"

"I don't know what that is." he says again, more gently, in his inside voice. "Now you just hang on a second and let me get your shoes."

"Mm...Kay." I yawn, there's the sound of blankets and a plush pillow. "You're the best."

"Sleep well, Kitten." he says, but I'm already making murmuring noises, well into sleepy time.

* * *

I wake up around five in the morning, realise I have no idea where I am or where the toilet is, and go back to sleep. Because clearly, when you wake up in a bed that smells like Captain America, you abandon logical notions and go back to sleep.

* * *

I'm curled into a ball, all blankets pulled up over my head, when I heard a muffed:

"Kitten? Are you in there?"

"Mmmn."

"Are you okay?"

"Mm."

I peel back a layer, crack open one eye, hide the other with my hand.

"What's th' time?"

He gives me the official time in his sharp solider speech, but I am either too cosy or too sleepy, because I have to ask again.

"Six o'clock." he says, causing me to have a minor brain hemorrhage.

"D'joo sleep good?" I pulls the blankets up with me to hide the probable nest hair and crumpled clothes thing I'll have going on.

I hate waking up early.

Hate it.

Hate.

It.

"Like a log, ma'am." he smiles. "What time did you have intentions of leaving? Not because I want you to go - it's just, it's getting late..." he seems to be unawares that six o'clock is the effing crack of dawn. I want to roll over and be spooned, is that too much to ask?

"Mm. I get it, solider boy." I rub my face. "Hokay. I'm gettin' up. Give me five minutes."

"Alright." he leaves the room.

I hit the pillow and start snoring.

"Uh, Kitten? It's been seven minutes."

"Mmhm. Ten more minutes. I'm up."

"Oh. Okay."

Snoring. Rolling over. Minor wailing about the sun in my eyes. More mumbling.

"Uh, Kitten?"

"Mhm?"

"It's been twenty minutes."

"Mmmn."

"And you're asleep again?"

I weep bitterly for my minutes of resting lost, then see his handsome, bright eyed face, and groan, because I'm about to roll out of bed for a smile.

"Alright, alright, I'm up. I'm up."

"You said that last time." he reminds me. "I'm making scrambled eggs, if you need incentive."

_Incentive?_

_Take your shirt off!_

_Shut up, brain._

"Alright, I'm up."

He's still standing in the doorway, only now he's folded his arms across his behemoth chest. He's got a miltarian eyebrow slanted at me. I suddenly fear the floor, because I'm probably going to be tipped off the bed and slamming into it soon.

"I'm going." I promise.

"I'll wait."

I kick my legs over the side, but stay mostly horizontal.

"Would you like a hand?"

"No." I grump, and sit up, in my cocoon of Steve-scented comfort. It's about the only comfort Steve is giving me at this point.

"Those blankets stay in this room." he tells me. "Or else you'll end up asleep again."

"It's not a crime!" I fluff the blankets down so I have a clear view of his face. "Cap."

"Kit."

I bat my lashes, tip my head, try and be cute. I don't need to pretend to be pouting, because you can bet your last dollar that I'm already pouting at him.

_"Caaaaap."_

"Yes?"

"Why can't we sleep in?" I coo.

"Because we are already awake. I've already showered, gotten dress, started preparing breakfast, managed to open the TV."

"Turn on, the TV."

"No. I was looking for the on button and pulled the screen off." he takes what appears to be the most menacing step in the whole world forward, which makes me throw myself dramatically back on the mattress, rolling in the blankets.

"I'm not going." I say, grabbing sleep-weak fistfuls of the covers. "Not now. Not today. I'm too comfy. If you come in here I can teach you how to spoon."

There's a brief silence, and I consider it a premature victory. Then he goes and does something worse than tipping me onto the floor - he steals the blankets right out of my hands, unrolling me in one swift pull. I gape at him, wondering why he would be so cruel.

"Now you're up," he bundles the bed clothes and throws them at the wall. "I will start breakfast."

So, you know how this story goes. I have a somewhat impertinence child issue, rebelling against this tiny bit of authority he's trying to impart. I picked up the blankets and went back to sleep in about thirty seconds flat. I managed to get another full hour, when he came in, stole my covers, and tucked them under his arms.

"Never have I ever seen someone hate getting out of bed so much." He says, mildly amused.

"Nuuhggg..." I raise my head and squint at him. "Why?"

"Because it's past seven thirty!"

I groan loudly and roll away from him, curled up. I don't even care I'm minus blankets, I've still got his-

But he steals the pillows too, and by the time I launch at him and try and steal them back, I'm well and truly awake. I take the grumpiest shower ever recorded in the history of the world, get dressed, fix my face and hair into something respectable, and sulk into the lounge, where he's got a plate all set up.

"Don't think you're cute." I tell him. "You're only cuter the longer you let me sleep."

"I must look like a troll to you then." he's perfectly cheerful, with his stupid coffee and his stupid newspaper, looking like a proper husband, all neat and clean and smiling at me...

I swoon again, and feel myself smiling, even though I want to be asleep.

"Yeah, the biggest, meanest troll in all the nine realms."

He cocks his head, but I wave it away. It's a joke that flies over his head, but it's a joke that'll fly over the head of anybody who isn't fluent where Nordic mythology is concerned.

He seems keen to ask but the sudden grin cracking across my face makes him come to a halt.

"What?" he asks, worried.

"Did you... get us flowers?"

Blushing. Awkward mumbling. News paper flicking.

Me, swooning.

* * *

"Steven, it's been an absolute pleasure." And because he looks lonely, I put my arms around his waist and give him a big ol' hug. "Stay in touch, alright? Get Tony to give you a hand sending emails."

"I will." his hands are slow and unsure at the affection, and he takes his time with giving me a soft hug back. When I don't move - because let's face it, he has an expansive, bed-like chest and I'm loving the big brother vibe thudding under my ear - he hugs me a little tighter, sets his cheek on top of my head.

It's takes me a good minute to let go, and by then, I've got the beginnings of tears in my eyes. Don't know why. I rub them away quickly.

"Are you alright, Kitten?"

"Yup. Sure am. Just, take care, Steve."

"You too." he smiles and lets go out of the circle of his arms.

I ache for the loss but smile anyway.


	5. McHammerPants

_MCHammer_

* * *

Thor.

He's huge and blonde.

Huge. Blonde.

And grinning only at me.

Steve was big, but Thor's _huge_, because he's about a head taller and just as wide. And he's got the energy of a great big Labrador because he bounds over to me, sticking his hand out.

"You must be Kitten! I am Thor." his normal voice is just a casual bellow. I take his hand and he turns it up to kiss my knuckles.

"You sure are." I blink - I've never met a god before - and then I grin right on back. "How are you?"

"I am well! Looking forward to my time with you. Jane has read to me the interviews you had with my fellows- and I thought that you had done a mighty job!"

I'm sure I'm going to be slightly deaf by the time twenty four hours is up, because my eardrums are already complaining about the noise. But it's mostly endearing, so far.

"Come, I will take you to my Lady Jane! She is most eager to meet you also!" he leads the way with big strides. I'm no shorty, but he's on the move and I have to jog to keep his pace. When he takes note of the small over night bag I'm dragging, like it's a conquest, he hoists it into the air and onto his shoulder.

I may or may not be staring at the thin strip of skin that is exposed as his arm lifts.

Of _course_, he has a girlfriend.

And of course, just like Pepper to Tony, she's lovely, and we've met briefly but I don't think she's going to remember it, somehow. She's brunette, effortlessly thin, and absolutely reeks of intelligence. Her eyes light up when she sees him, before she trades her gaze of him to me and simmers down slightly.

"Hi. I'm Jane."

Jane is in a lab coat.

Nick's book of rules says I can't talk much about Jane for her safety, so even though she gives me a full and thorough introduction to who she is and what she does and how these two crazy kids met, I can't actually repeat any of it.

I'll just sum it up with how sickeningly sweet they are, then I'll go ahead and pull my big-girl shorts on. I suffer through in relative silence, because the next thing I'm legally allowed to report is:

"My God, you two make me sick. In a good way. Kind of."

"I apologise." Thor can't keep that grin off his face, though. "By your complaint I am reminded of my dear friend, Darcy! You two would be the best of friends, I am certain. She reads your works religiously, before any of the Avengers were interviewed."

"Oh really?" No one ever does, considering I have a highly sarcastic tone and usually hate my jobs. "Well, tell her thanks, from me."

"I might do that now, actually." Jane says, and puts her hand over Thor's. "I'll give you two some time. I'll be back soon."

I watch his smile fade, the pout jut out from under his beard. Ugh. He's _adorable_.

"Alright. Come back swiftly."

"I will." she presses a gentle kiss to the side of his head, and he catches the back of her neck and draws her down for a proper one.

"Oh, come on." As if they aren't rubbing their love in enough. I avert my eyes to the ceiling and wait until there's the sound of giggling, a mildly chastising "Thor..." and his rumbling laughter.

"Go on." I'm pretty sure he smacks her butt on the way past, but even if I ignored it then, I can hear it on the tape now. "I will speak the highest of you, my love."

"I'm going to be violently ill." I tell the roof. "I'm goin' to see the Doc for this random and sudden illness. Drink up with Stark. Take Steve on a proper date. God, I miss Steve. Hey, tell me, Tony reckons you could out drink me, what's the booze like on Asgaurd?" I lower my eyes to his head, but he's watching Jane out the door.

I wait till he turns around and looks a little sheepish.

"I am sorry. My Lady Jane is a particular distraction."

"You two are like a Nick Sparks love story personified. He's- a love story writer. Has Jane sat you down through the Notebook yet?"

He shakes his head.

"Jane is often busy with her magic. She and Hulk are working on ways to bring forth Asgaurdian medicines for the betterment of Midgaurdian people. My Jane is wonderful."

"She's very intelligent. I can see that." I consider the way he's now sagging so sadly. "And she adores you, too."

"That I know." he inflates a little more. "Now. These questions. Ask of me what you will."

"It doesn't really work like that." I consider my words carefully. "But I'll do my damnedest Apart from Jane, clearly the best part of your life right now, what do you think of Midgaurd?"

"You use my terms!" he exclaims, grinning.

"I read a lot." I smile. "I know vague details about the tree, the different plains on which we walk, and what walks on them. It comes with being a nerd."

"Yes- Darcy also uses this term, 'nerd'. But she uses it in a derogatory manner, does she not?"

"It can be, but it's like any other name. It's how you imply it." I struggle to find an appropriate definition of the word. "A 'nerd' is someone who knows a lot about a lot of things. More so than regular people."

"Like Jane!" he says with a grin. "And my brother!"

"Yeah, you could say that."

What I know of Loki is made up over years of reading Nordic mythology. He made up one of my two childhood idols and I know his lore like the back of my hand, but I don't mention this out loud because Thor is sagging again.

"What's the matter?"

"I do miss him. The way we used to be as children. His mischief always made for a good laugh."

"When it wasn't aimed at you." I quip, because if you know anything about Thor and Loki, Loki always had his own when it came to Thor.

He chuckles.

"Even so, I look back now and laugh on his pranks."

There's a mild silence, and I allow him to gather his thoughts.

"But you asked of me what my thoughts were of Midgaurd, Kitten? I would say I have many favourite people. I like the way you all interact - it is - different. You have your social norms, but they are not normal, where I come from." he look around the room. He looks too big and out of place on the couch, which has a permanent indent of his weight.

"What about the entertainment? It's not the same, is it?"

"We do battle for entertainment." he grins. "Jane likens it to a Gladiator from the times long past. I thought the Gladiators were the best kind of men, but Jane assures me it is not so glamours. I still want to take the idea before my father."

"The Allfather?" I guess, and watch him brighten even more. I can't help but feel this, _intimidation,_ mentioning his name in front of Thor. "Is... Heimdall, you know... Watching?"

"Always." he beams.

I look up at the roof conspiratorially.

"Not to insult his honour, but I'll be taking my showers in the dark."

He lets out what can only be described as a 'mighty' bellow.

"You are funny, Lady Kitten. And tiny." he's looking at my waist. "I could wrap one hand about you, friend!"

"I'd dare you to try, but I have the distinct feeling you're game to do exactly that." I can't help but smile at him. "And I like being tiny, with the name like Kitten. It's misleading."

"It is, indeed." he gets to his feet, starts pacing, but it seems to be just his hyperactivity kicking in. "Jane has shown unto me pictures of kittens to explain to me what they are. I would have all the kittens in the world as my pets, but she says that I must be gentle with them, lest I break one."

"Kittens are kind of adorable." I consider his large, pacing frame. "So, uh... You realise they grow into cats, don't you?"

"I am aware. I have been begging for one, but she assures me I do not want one for the messes they will make."

"Not if you housetrain it."

He stops pacing, puts two huge, hopeful eyes on my face.

"Can _you _do that?"

Oh, hell. Well, I'm gone. He just sits there and looks at me like I'm his lifeline to the world as he knows it - what little he knows of it - he pouts and I'm on my feet, getting my purse, taking his arm and dragging him out the door. His girlfriend is going to hate me.

But at least I get the brownie points of a god.

* * *

Sneaking out of the Stark Tower is a bit like trying to slide away from a stretch Hummer at the Oscars. Everybody has eyes on the Hummer. It doesn't matter if you're recognised or not, they have eyes on you.

Unfortunately, we are both recognised, and it takes a trip to Captain America to figure out what we can do about it. Mind, I wasn't actively looking for him, I just saw his massive shoulders and was already calling out his name.

"Steve!" I said with a grin fit for Thor, running to him and hugging him tightly. "Hi!"

"Hello, Kitten." He clasps forearms with Thor, they do that manly head nod thing. There's a busty brunette beside him who is gawking at me.

"You're- You're- _Kitty Black_!"

"Hi." I stick my hand out. She grabs it, shakes it, pulls out her phone. We duckface for the camera and she swears she won't post it anywhere, but I happen to know a lie when I see one. I don't mind. Who'm I to deny infamy on the odd occasion?

"I'm Darcy." she says.

"Oh, you're Darcy?" I raise eyebrows. I wish I had a remotely similar figure, the girl is rocking some serious curves. "I've heard about you."

"Really?" she grins. "Good things?"

"Things." I wave my hands around, whack her arm in a friendly way, and look up to Steve. "We are in desperate need of help."

"What's up?" he looks between Thor's somewhat vibrating excitement and my mild, innocent expression. "Or... what are you planning?"

I turn to Thor.

"Give us one moment." I hold up a finger. "Don't listen, you'll ruin the surprise."

"I swear it." he says, gallant and bellowy as per his norm. He then proceeds to ruin that image of utter perfection by sticking both hands over his ears.

I whirl on both Darcy and Steve.

"I want to get him a kitten."

Darcy laughs, very loudly, and hides her face in both hands.

"So do I!" she says. "Don't tell me he's already puppy dog eye'd you into submission, I thought you were tougher than that?"

"There's only so much a girl can do." I sigh dramatically, wink at Steve, who scrubs his face, all bashful. "Jane isn't allergic or anything, is she?"

"Nope." she pops the 'p', readjusts her glasses. "She's just sure he's going to be heartbroken if he accidently kills it."

"What're the chances...?" I take a look at his far too innocent eyes. "Are you listening in, Thor?"

He shakes his head.

"Busted." Darcy says, and moves his hand away.

"Would you really give me a kitten, Kitten?" he's all sorts of hopeful. Makes me want to squash him, or at least push him over so I can stop giving him my obnoxious "Nawwww!" face.

"...Yes." Because I credit myself on the truth.

I want to explain that it comes with responsibilities and the like, but he very abruptly picks me up and swings me around, lifting me dangerously high to the ceiling. I hold onto his shoulders as he laughs - still keeping me off the floor, gives me a gigantic hug that pretty much forces my oxygen supply up and out of my mouth.

Steve pries his arm from my ribcage and I hold onto both as I regain my breath, look up at Steve with a small grin.

"Help us get out of here, please?"

"Please?" Thor says, and claps him on the shoulder, squeezing. Now Steve's got a hand on me, I've got both hands on them, and Thor's got a hand on Steve, we look like the strangest rendition of koombyah.

"I don't know..."

Thor's hand squeezes.

"You are my brother in arms." he says, in his rumbling, promising voice. "And I would do anything for you, should you ask it of me."

"It's just a kitten, Steve." I say, and bat my eyelashes.

Then Darcy sticks her head in the middle.

"It'll be an adventure." she says cheekily.

Steve rolls his eyes, a lil' bit, which I think he's picked up from the boobalicious Darcy. He inflates like he's going to deny, then sees all three of us in apparent tandem, giving him the same hopeful, wide eyes, none bigger or more innocent than Thor's.

He sighs.

"Alright. But we have to do this my way."

* * *

It's every cool thing you've seen in the spy movies, except we have one hot intern, one hot god of thunder, one hot time-traveled super solider, and one hot me.

I got to skip ahead with Darcy, try and pretend to be normal, like we weren't on the most important part of this mission. We were casually in the lobby, scoping the paps outside, when they recognised my face and started taking photos, asking who it was I was interviewing, if I was in some kind of relationship with Steve.

I gave them a highly attractive "WTF" face, and Darcy pulled us behind the receptionist's desk to confer. We motion to Steve, who takes approximate numbers, and then, in an act of sheer brilliance, the both of them come out... behind umbrellas.

We are handed an umbrella each, pop them to hide our faces, damning the notion of the bad luck, times four. Unfortunately, because we can't use brute force, not one of us makes it past a foot from Stark Towers.

We retreat, and run to a hallway up several flights of stairs, which makes Darcy gasp for air and hurts my ankle, lil' bit. We're all sitting there in silence for a while, wondering how we'd all faced aliens in some form, only to come off worse to some men with cameras.

Steve is trying to replan his tactics, Darcy is giving him a hand with what she knows about who's who in Papworld. I was annoyed that it wasn't any good, but Thor was definitely sulking, his arms propped on his knees, staring through the hole.

"We'll get there." I say, patting his forearm.

"I want to be there now." he mumbles.

"Planning and waiting is half the fun." I go on. "What kind of kitten do you want, hmm? An orange one? A black one?"

He gives me a serious look.

"I want a fluffy one." he says, struggling to be grumpy as he pictures the kitten. "White. With blue eyes like jewels. A dark nose. Tipped ears. There is a name for the breed..."

I know exactly what he's talking about.

"Ragdoll." I beam, because I've owned one before.

Okay, my neighbour had it, but he didn't look after it very well. The little guy was always far too thin, under all the fluff. I stole it once and kept it in my room for the better part of a week - my mother found it and made me give it back, after a beating and verbal attack I will never forget. So yes, I can housetrain cats.

"Those are the ones!" He puts a friendly arm around my shoulder. "You are a Nerd in this area, too?"

"No," and I laugh, because he's getting good with trying the words of Midgaurd. "I know the kind, though. You are aware we're going to need collars and vaccination bills and toys, catnip, kitty litter..." I start rambling at him, all the things he needs, but he just takes it in stride, nodding and asking what's what when he needs something clarified.

Finally, we sit there in depressed silence, because Thor is all caught up on the ideals of pet ownership and Steve is out of ideas, since Darcy keeps shooting them down with frighteningly accurate estimations of what the pap will get up to in order to get their photos.

"Excuse me, but, might I be of service?"

"JARVIS!" I exclaim, and look around.

"Yes, Miss Kitten?"

"Oh, I'm thrilled to the back teeth to hear from you!" I bump Thor's arm. "Give us good news."

"There is a way lodged in my data base to escape without attracting attention." he says casually. "But it requires pass codes."

Darcy rolls her eyes, pats her chest.

"Don't worry guys, I got this. I'm Level Four." she says.

"I need at least a Level Seven." he concurs.

Darcy looks like that's the equivalent of being smashed in the face with a shovel.

"Who's got that kind of access?" I muse.

"Hulk has the highest." Darcy rubs her chin in thought. "Jane. A few other desk jockeys. I know Pep's in with a high level, probably above Seven, and only Tony has access to everything."

"D'you think he'll help us out?" Steve says, but I shake my head.

"He's not here. He's on a trip to somewhere in the South Pacific. I would know, because I called ahead to organize... Well." I suddenly become very interested in my nails. "Drinks, between him, Thor and I. As far as I'm concerned, I've got a game on."

"I could drink your weight in mead and not feel the slightest ailment." The god says.

"I could say the same to you." I return. It's certified bullshit, because he's a massive dude, and consuming his weight in alcohol would probably kill me.

"Guys." Darcy says, aware a large pissing contest is about to ensure. "Level Seven. My bet's on Doc."

"Well then, we have a plan of attack." Steve rolls onto two feet and helps Darcy to hers, while Thor and I get to ours of more individual means. I happen to see a moment of the cute, high school romance sort, pass between them, but decide to opt out of mentioning it, until you know... Right now.

To everyone.

We don't find the Doc hard at work in his lab/room/apartment, though Thor commended me on my coloured pollen. He says it is a good, strong colour, and I should be proud. When I start to ask about his and Jane's colours, he becomes quite deaf, and doesn't hear me.

Doc is sound asleep in one of the lounges, snoring, his glasses askew. Both Steve and I take a handful of Thor each to ensure he doesn't attempt to wake him up. It's kind of devastating, the look on his face, but he sags and wonders away.

"JARVIS?" Steve says to the roof.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Where is Miss Potts?"

"Miss Potts is temporarily unavailable." JARVIS says, sounding more robotic than normal. "Please leave a message if it is urgent."

"Do you know how long she'll be?" Darcy asks, wiping her glasses on her shirt.

"No, Miss Lewis, I don't. I can direct you to Jane Foster, if you would like?"

"No, we still have various deskjockeys left, right?"

None of them would do us any favours, even if they swooned when Steve asked nicely.

_Of course_, Jane was the only one left, after nearly two hours of tracking down and begging randoms to let us out for a kitten.

"Oh, bugger." I sigh, and turn around to give the big blonde a sturdy look. "How's your lying face, McHammerPants?"

"I will not lie to Jane." he folds massive arms over his chest.

"Well I can't lie to save myself." I mutter, rub my temple. "And I'll end up telling her anyway, because it's not like it's a big deal."

"I can!" Darcy says brightly, and under Steve's raised brows, sinks a little. "Well, you know, for the better - greater good, or whatever - and I mean, look at his face, would you?" she motions to Thor, who is looking downwards.

"Perhaps it is not meant to be." he says, utterly defeated.

"There's no glory in a riskless life." I say, and put my dwarfed hand on his arm. "We can go and ask her. I'll help."

"I would appreciate that." he says, and sweeps himself into a graceful bow, considering his mass. "I think our mission has come to an end. Darcy. Steven. I thank you for your assistance. It will not be soon forgotten."

We make our goodbyes, and good luck is shared. I hug Steve, and Darcy - who fangirls, don't deny it, kid, I was there! - and then we step forth and meet our destiny.

* * *

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because kittens need attention." she hasn't looked up from her diagram of the stars, she's busy ruling lines between points I can't make sense of. "I'm here. You're training, or looking after..." now she does look up, and looks pointedly at him.

"You know who."

"My lady love." he says, in a very chilling rumble. "I would not abandon any task for my pet. I would merely make room for him."

"Him?" she blinks. "Why a boy?"

"Boys are easier to maintain." I inject, then sink back into the shadows and let them continue.

"If you would rather a girl," he says, but she waves the notion away. "Jane."

"_Thor._" she's hunched over her stars, now. That can't be good for her back. "I'm concerned for you. What happens when the kitten gets sick?"

"I will heal him."

"What happens if you hurt him so bad we have to put him down?"

"I will learn to be gentle."

She raises her brows, but focuses on her line drawing and note scribbling.

"What happens when he dies of old age, and you go on with your eons of life?"

And that's slicing below the belt, because she isn't talking about a cat any more.

"Jane." he goes over to her. Slides a handful of her hair away from her face, and carefully guides her chin up with the tip of his finger. She is transfixed, but looking grim. "You will have to wait and gauge my reaction, will you not? Death is a part of life." he soothes, and strokes her cheeks with a fingertip.

She gives me a brief glance, then sighs like it's the bane of her existence to make her guy smile.

"Alright. I'll get you out. But I don't think you're taking this seriously." she hands him a white card, which he kisses her for. "You do realise how expensive everything will be?"

"I don't care." I shrug. "I get a bonus for the Avengers stuff. It's all for a good cause anyway. How do you say no to him?"

She grins.

"Practice."

"Come, lady Kitten, let us venture forth!" And seeing as I have no practice against his (bulging) charm, I allow myself to be dragged out of the Tower at full speed ahead.

* * *

Hours, hours, hours, later. Nearly thirteen different stores. And the last one is always the one you find something at.

"I LOVE THIS CAT." he says, making the kitten mewl and recoil slightly. "THIS IS MY CAT AND I WILL LOVE HIM."

_Ohhhhkaaaaaaay._

I look at the tiny white fluff, with his tipped ears, bright blue eyes, and the way that out of all of the hundreds of kittens we've seen today, this is the only one not to scamper from his bellowing mass.

"Inside voice." I remind him - having had to discuss what the inside voice was, twice, he knows exactly what I'm saying. I peer at the creature. "It's bigger than the rest. Bigger than a kitten should be."

"It was an abnormality." The lady clerk says in a matter-of-fact way. "It was the biggest I have ever seen to come out of a cat. The only one to survive his litter."

Thor bends to look at it through the glass, his hands pressing against the shiny prison.

"He is a fighter, after my own heart." he promises no one in particular. "He is my kitten, I swear I know him."

The clerk just looks at me like: "_It's really nice you're buying this guy a cat, make sure he doesn't eat it_."

I smile politely.

"Can he hold it?" I say, and Thor is instantly on his feet, the full force of his eyes and face aimed on the woman. She really had no chance, but props for how she tried to avoid the inevitable.

The kitten bats at her hand as she reaches for it, so she grabs it by the scruff and puts it in the palm of the god. It's fur stands on end, making him effectively just a ball of fur and two large eyes, looking up at the blonde.

"And what is your name, little one?" it's weird seeing him be so actively careful, and _quiet_.

"MEW." the little brown nose rubs against the pad of the god's thumb. Thor is swooning. But it's a very manly swoon. I can see how much it means to him, to have this little life in his palm.

"You are thusly dubbed Mew." Thor said, and tried to smooth out it's fur, but the electricity in his hand only encouraged it to stand higher up in the air, giving him what appeared to be a permanent style of looking like he was electrocuted.

"You can give him another name." I say. "He didn't just name himself."

"Yes he did." Thor says, and continues to pat him.

"Right. We'll take him." I organise everything while the two new besties got well and truly acquainted talking to each other in totally different languages. When she tries to take him and put him in a box for transport, Thor looks like he's mortally wounded, like he may consider stealing the rest of the kittens if she plans to hide them away in cardboard.

"I'll just..." take the box from her hand, slowly put it on the floor, watch his fingers twitch for the handle of Mjolnir. "It's okay. You got him. Now. Let's get back to Jane?"

"She will love Mew." he says, and hoists the little fluff onto his shoulder, keeping it there with one hand while the kitten just looks at me with his furry little face, like he knows this is my fault, and my fault alone.

* * *

Thor hasn't let the kitten out of his hands, not once. I watch him struggle with the bell on his collar but he won't accept my help, generously denying it until he succeeds. The kitten ends up on his shoulder, held there with one of his massive hands for safety.

Jane, to her credit, doesn't look up right away. Not until she hears a tiny: "Mew." and a big chuckle.

"Oh, you actually did it." she lifts her glasses onto her head, smiles widely at the fluff. "He's... Actually, very cute."

Thor beams.

"His name is Mew." he announces, and lets the kitten down, finally on the table. "Go to your mother, Mew."

Then Jane swoons, and Thor swoons, and Mew and I are sitting there, wishing we could swoon at each other.

* * *

We do two things.

One, play with the kitten, who I am finally allowed to smooth under my human finger combing.

Two, talk about things Nick will have a heart attack about. Mostly family matters, and the roads to and from Asgaurd, and how we get things to grow here. I use a lot of what Doc and I have discussed, so I'm actually able to keep up with the conversation.

I, in my now typical fashion, fall asleep on the couch. I wake up, only because there's a cat purring as he rubs along my face, trying to suffocate me with cuteness. They don't realise it, but I crack open an eye and see them, supposed to be watching TV and instead watching each other.

They are ass over head in love.

I have never seen anything more pure and sure in all the time I've been alive.

It makes me feel ill, so I collect the kitten, dump it on them to remind them that they have innocent eyes present, and retire myself to bed before they get any more intense and I spontaneously combust.

* * *

I manage to drag myself out of bed just before lunch time, which is later than I was supposed to leave. Thor is snoring with Mew curled up on the small of his back - pictures are included below - flicking his tail over an exposed strip of skin where his ill-fitting t-shirt has ridden up.

"Thor." I say in a sleepy voice. "We slept in."

"I like sleep." he rumbles. "You like sleep too. I know, because of what Jane as read to me." He lifts his head, pulls my familiar one eyed, 'too-early' face.

"Mew is sitting on you." I point out, curling up in a chair. "We have t' get up. I have more to..." I cut the sentence with a yawn that makes both the cat and god yawn in sympathy.

"Ask."

"Hmph." he drops his head on a pillow. "Allow me time."

"Hey, I know that trick." I say, hunkering down. "Don't make me call Steve..."

"You wouldn't."

There's not _much_ of a chance I would ever be so cruel, but if Thor is going to put up a fight, I'm going to need backup. I feel bad for making these early morning (mid day) threats. Especially concerning Steve, who would have a conniption if he knew we were still lazing around at this hour.

"Mew." says the kitten, getting up, stretching. He digs his tiny claws into Thor's butt, which makes him chuckle, then jumps off the bed and prowls over to his litter box.

"Go have a shower." I say. "Wake up. How do you have coffee?"

"Black as the night sky." he says, rolling over. "With sugar."

"Yeah, okay... how many?"

"I am feeling the need for bitter coffee today." he says with a shrug. "So, two? If it please you."

Uh huh. Because two sugars is bitter. I dread to think what kind of cavities he and Hulk would work up on a normal man, and shake my head, getting up to make coffee.

"Pop tarts?" I wonder out loud, after digging through his cupboards. They're mostly bare of anything you can't microwave or toast to eat, though there is a large collection of Mi Goreng and cereal that contradicts that.

"I didn't even know they even made tripple ripple, pepermint choc." I say, slightly offended, and grab the box. "What gives?"

"That is Darcy's favourite flavour." I hear. "You are welcome to the shower."

I turn around with full intentions of asking him if he gets special flavours of pop tart above us mere mortals, but the words come out as a somewhat choked gasp. He isn't completely dry, though he's working on it, scrubbing his hair with a towel. He's all... rippled... and rippling... and I drop my Pop Tarts.

"Mew." says Mew, looking between us both. No one is showing him any attention. He prowls over to his daddy - who I'm just watching, because there's not much else I can do at this point - and twists between his bare feet, prompting Thor to tease him with the towel.

He chuckles, which makes him tense in already bulging places.

AND HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT HE'S DOING TO ME.

I (wipe the drool away from my chin) swoop and pick up the Pop Tarts, trying - failing - to put them away without looking, or blinking.

He looks up and blinks at the zombie-esque expression.

"Are you alright, Lady Kitty?"

Blink.

Blink.

Oh, he's speaking to _me._

"I am fine. Just enjoying the view."

Blink.

Blink.

Inhale.

_Yeah, you said that out loud. Way to go, Black._

"I am going to shower now." it's the only placid thing I can say. Then I forcibally remove myself from the presence, motioning to the coffee that's steaming but certainly not as hot as he is.

Cold shower done and out of the way, I regret to find him in clothes.

So now I'm staying a few hours extra to make up for time lost, Thor has already emptied the kitty litter in an effort to get a head start on his duties as a carer for the newest addition to his family while I was out.

The kitten in question is on his back along on of his father's broad thighs, playing with his fingers. He reaches for Thor's nails, which is all we can sit there and pay the up most attention to, before I have to focus and stop falling for the cuteness.

"Tell me - apart from the kitten going gaga - and Lady Jane, of course, what is it you like about Midgaurd? I know we started, but we got side tracked on a mission of epic proportions and, you know, this is the result." I lean over and tempt the creature with the end of my pen, but I am ignored.

Mew prefers his father above everyone.

"I favour my fellow Avengers. I like protecting those of Midgaurd. I adore you, who writes with a flavour I have never known, and would sacrifice her time and studies to give me what I most desired!" his voice is steadily working up in volume. "You, who after knowing me only for such a small time, would sway my Jane and engage in an effort just to please me! You are a best friend of mine for your troubles, and for the care you show to my men in arms!"

"Oh, shucks. You'll make me blush." not that he didn't, what with the wet, half nakedness of his after shower. "So, how is Midgaurd differ-?"

There's a loud, long, blaring alarm that cuts off my words. Mew startles, curls under his father's palm. There's the sounds of trouble in loudspeakers all around, someone fumbling with a microphone.

_"Thor, you are needed for assignment. Thor, please come to the top floor immediately for assignment."_

"Loki." Thor growls, and gets to his feet, inflating.

Now, in Nick's book of rules, he covered this area. Things may happen. I am not allowed to get involved. I have to do what I'm told and keep my nose out of trouble, ignore the presumed onslaught of awesome things I'd much rather be involved in. Thor looks apologetically to me, and startles when Jane comes barrelling through the door, puffing mildly.

"Now," she says. "Kitten, you and me. They've got calls on civilian evac,_ right now_."

"Stay together with the Lady Kitty." he tells her, holding her face between one of his hands, the other being busy with the fretting cat. "She has combatant skills that will put my heart to ease. Stay safe."

"I'll find you." she promises him, and kisses his chin. She looks at me, while he holds her in a brief, one armed hug. "Come on, we've got to move. Give me Mew."

He presses the kitten to his cheek. He bats playfully at his face, then is transferred to Jane, who has to use both hands to keep him properly comfortable because of his size.

"She'll be safe with me," I tell Thor, which makes him clap a hand on my shoulder, before he takes off in a fantastic blonde flip of hair. Jane watches him until he is around the corner and out of sight, then turns to me, looking worried.

"You really will be safe." I tell her. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Mew, too." I say, making her smile.

I follow her at a jog. We circle rapidly moving people, men in kevlar, various scientists in stages of panic. There are a number of things I can't mention, but all you have to know is that it's chaotic mayhem, which I know is right up Loki's alley. It's the way he likes things. I wouldn't have put it past him to have pulled the same stunt before, but I already know that if I ask, my questions will be redirected, at best.

We use Jane's access codes and burst out a side door that is instantly blurred into a background by some cool StarkTech camouflage and catch our breath, before was start to walk, avoiding main streets where paps creep.

Jane looks so anxious, so I tell her we can go through the park near Stark Tower, and see if we can see anything, still keeping our distance.

"Did you see anything?" I prompt.

"Nothing."

And because asking any more would make me nosy, I focus on making her feel better.

"How's Mew?"

"A little squirmy." she lifts him to my eye line. "This is your fault, you know."

"I know, but not all of us are practised at shielding from those blue, blue eyes. And, I'm thanking you now for neglecting to mention towel etiquette to your man friend. I got a faceful of muscles I didn't even know existed, this morning. Heads up when I write about the fountain of drool that just about poured out of my mouth."

She hides her face in the fur of the kitten who's looking around at all of this emerald _nature stuff_, like he hasn't seen it before. He probably hasn't. I tickle his chest.

"I tried to mention it." she says. "But Darcy kept changing the subject."

"Of course she did. She's a forward thinker." I laugh, and see a smattering of pretty blue flowers to our left. "Hey, c'mon, we're going on an adventure."

So we do. it's quite lovely. There's a beautiful, lazy, midday sun peeking through the tress, and it illuminates the whole of our world into a gorgeous emerald city. I actively try to lose us in the foliage, and the further we get, the less pinched Jane's brow becomes.

All her worry is stored in her brows and the pucker of her mouth. So when they smooth, I relax.

I become aware that even though our last few turns have been over rocks, splashing through water, through tress, that there is someone at our six. I try not to look over my shoulder, but I take the lead and turn around to 'help Jane and Mew over a log' when I see him.

Staring. Scars on his mouth. A tattoo on his neck. All in ominous black. He ducks behind a tree and makes like he's lighting up a smoke, probably so his hand hides the rest of his face before I can see it.

I take Jane's arm and smile at her.

What can I do? 'Don't turn around' will just make her turn around. 'Don't panic' won't work either. And he could just be a random with a boner for ladies in the park. Maybe he likes kittens. _Everyone_ likes kittens. I'm over reacting. Maybe. It doesn't_ feel_ like an overreaction.

When I hear my voice next, I sound casually cool, but_ too _casual.

"Have there been any threats on you?" I say, holding a branch back, staring through the leaves to see his shadow behind a trunk. "Because of your... status?"

"Uh... Yes." she seems ashamed of this. "Only one, though."

"What happened?"

Basically, she and Darcy were at a market with one of their friends Erik. Erik went to find and utilize a toilet facility, but was soon lost. They split up to try and find him but Jane was Jane-napped for all of thirty seconds, because Darcy had already pulled her phone and was bolting after the van to keep them in her sight. She called Nick, who told Thor in person.

Thor had stomped the front of the van, ripped straight through the interior, and the men were promptly incarcerated by my totally powerful boyfriend, Nick.

"Woah. Cudos to Darcy."

"Yeah." Jane is enthralled by the kitten. She doesn't notice the way I'm now glaring over her shoulder. "But what brought that on...? Kitten?"

"Don't move." he draws a gun and points it at Jane. His black eyes flick to me. "Get out of the way."

Apparently I moved into the line of fire. Jane swears as soon as the gun was drawn I was in the way, but I can't remember it like that. Apparently adrenaline screws around with my brain, because the next part of this recounting is made up mostly of Jane telling me what happened in conjunction with what I hear.

"Make me."

"I'll shoot you."

"You do and it'll draw attention. Who are you? What do you want?"

"Get out of the way."

"Like I said." there's a dangerous pause. "You're going to have to make me."

Jane screams - Mew mewls! - there's a gun shot and a grunt, followed by the sounds of fists hitting flesh. I release a kind of brutal war cry (I realise it sounds ridiculous but that's what happens when you've got a sensei making you scream every time you land a solid hit) and tackle him to the floor.

Jane tells me he drew a knife and sliced at my face, leaving me to lean back and shift my weight into something he managed to flip off more easily. He tried for Jane but I beat him again, knocking him off his feet.

I found his gun in my hand, aimed at his face, the other holding Jane to my back so I knew where she was.

"Who're you working for?"

He spit something at me in a feral tongue, something neither Jane nor I understood.

"Fine. You can deal with the consequences of bigger, meaner, men." I fumble for Jane's phone and she hands it to me after dialling up Stark towers.

"This is JARVIS?"

"JARVIS, be a dear, tell me who of the Avengers is currently at your station?"

The man pales, scrambles and leaps forward in an attack. I boot him in the face, making his head kick back and a loud sound leave his throat.

"Sorry, say again?" I ask mildly, and the sound of calm in my voice makes me feel a bit like a serial killer.

"There is Captain America, Agent Barton and Hulk, Miss Kitten."

"Where's Thor?"

"On his way back from-" Bleeped for security reasons.

"I see. Can you get in touch with him?"

"I can try. Please hold."

The longest wait of my life. The guy has drawn a series of small throwing knives, and is no longer messing around, underestimating me, or holding his bloody nose. I drop the phone and shove Jane and Mew to the side as he comes at me.

Jane says we fought. She says JARVIS got the coordinates and Hawkeye and Steve were sent our way. I swung my foot up and cracked him under the jaw, opening into a perfect split, just as backup crashed through the trees.

The guy had bitten straight through his tongue, and was spewing blood, so to put him out of his misery I spun and took him out with a kick to the temple. It all happened in slow motion, to me, but Jane assures me that there was so much going on she couldn't tell me what had happened if she tried.

Hawkeye, or Agent Barton - next on my list of things to do (winkwinkwink) - was barely there, before he and the to-be kidnapper had been solen away by big burly dudes with big black vans.

Steve took one look my way, noticed several long and heavily bleeding slices around my general self, and got us back to the Tower as quickly and safely as physically possible.

* * *

"Trouble. It must be your middle name. Kitten Trouble Black." Doc mused, wiping a burning ointment over a particularly large cut on my forearm. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"'Parently not." I grump, because there's a slice on my face that had better heal, lest heads start to roll. Jane is sitting on Thor's legs, letting herself be held, with three pairs of their eyes (don't forget Mew, of course, wedged between them) are all on me.

"It's fine." I say, for the thirty-first time. Seriously. I counted.

Steve pats the knee not covered in blood and gives me a smile from behind his Spandex that makes me soften significantly. There's a report I have to fill out and most of what happens means I'm not allowed to discuss it.

* * *

Frankly, there's a lot that happens that day I'd love to talk about, but all I can legally say - without ramifications from my darling Nick - is that I say goodbye to Mew, Jane, Thor and my other Avenging friends, then go home, alone, have to redress my wounds all by myself. I' not allowed to drink anything because of the mild pain meds I've been handed and I can't squeeze any more writing from the tips of my fingers.

So I sleep.


	6. Hotguy

**Okay, so, this got unintentionally more flirty than the others... And I didn't have the heart to strip it back any. Ignore my mild obsession with Hakweye. My bad.**

**Aude**

**xx**

* * *

_Hotguy_

* * *

Again, I have to be careful with the names. This one I can call Agent, Agent Barton, Bart, Bart-face, Hawkeye, or as I affectionately named him... Hotguy.

Deal with it.

For over an hour, I wait patiently in the lower level of Stark Tower, chatting to JARVIS. Eventually, because even JARVIS has more social interactions than I do, he is required to go offline, and I sit down. I have the strangest sensation of being watched - my Spidy senses are in overdrive - and constantly glance around, and check my watch every three or so minutes until I become aware of a solid presence beside me on the bench.

I gape when he cocks a half grin and smiles.

THIS, is who Hawkeye is?

"Took you long enough to catch me, Kit."

"You're not supposed to tease me just because I haven't got special training, man."

"It's pretty rare around here. Can't blame me."

And that's how we make the acquaintance of one another.

"What's on the agenda, then, Feathers?"

"Already with the cute nicknames, Kitty Black?"

"You started it, Barton. And I've got more ammo on you do, any ways."

He grins.

"You think you do. But back to the original question, with you here, I'm allowed to what is acceptably justified as... Nothing."

"I could use a work out." I consider his build, the rippling cord of his forearms. "You must work out."

"As opposed to Tony, Thor, Steve?"

"Yes. You're only human, from what I'm told."

"Sure am, Kitten."

"I'm going to live to regret that name, aren't I?"

"I think it suits you. You look like a wildcat."

"Meow." I paw the air at him, and his grin splits across his face very suddenly. "So, neither the public, nor me, know much about you - other than you're male, and operate bow and arrows, some kind of super Robin Hood."

"That line has been used about a thousand times already. Points to you if you come up with a new one."

"Challenge accepted. Also- Nick's on my ass about what I ask you, in particular. So my plan of attack is to totally and utterly avoid talking." I'm kidding, but he takes what he can get.

"Is that so?" now he's purring at me, and I was supposed to be the feline out of the two of us. "I know a few tricks to keep my mouth occupied."

"Any of them include ice cream?"

"Several."

Brain, please return from the gutter, you are needed on deck for assessment of potential man candy. Brain, return from the gutter?

"I think it would be a great idea if we both worked out. Put me through your paces, Mr. Eye."

"What_ kind _of paces?"

I'm very tempted to answer with something racy. But I don't. Because Steve mentioned a bunch of things from the time I spent with Thor that made me feel bad for subjecting his rather innocent eyes upon the raunchiness of my words. So Steven... Sorry. This one's worse.

Waaaay worse.

"Work me out. I'll do whatever you do."

"Are you sure?" he raises his brow. "I get pretty brutal."

"I can take it."

* * *

I've said it before, but let me reiterate. I am the baby of a family of boys. I compete only to win, so when I'm issued a challenge by a guy who clearly doesn't think I can't hack it, I hack the ever loving shit out of it to spite the bastard.

I may have napped and partied with Tony; chilled out and did some science with Hulk; did some therapy and catching up with Steve; got a kitten for Thor and defended his lady's honour; but Hawkeye-...

Good God.

He lost his shirt around the same time I did - when we started with mild running laps, I was keeping pace with him if it killed me (which it nearly did). The stamina just kept coming. My body was complaining after the first ten minutes, and continued to complain for the next two and a half hours. We didn't run for that long, let me be clear, but I have a feeling he could've if he really wanted to.

"Come on." I huff at him when he finally pulls up, sticking my hair back. "You've got more'n that, champ. You're going easy on me! Bust out the big guns, already."

His eyebrows raise.

"You know you're trouble, don't you?"

"Tell me you're another one who didn't read the shit I've been up to with the rest of your crew." I jog on the spot, pumped up. "Come on, let's go."

"Geeze Kit, calm down." he rubs a towel over his face. "I can only do so much with you before I get in trouble."

"Pluh-lease." I got over to the mats, flip one down. "You're already in trouble, you just don't know it yet. I know you've got hand-to-hand on your resume."

"And I know you got a black belt in karate and are working up to it in jujitsu. I'll go easy on you."

"Worst thing you could say." I tell him, wrapping up my hands.

We're already stretched out, warmed up and ready to go. He rolls his head on his neck and slides into a loose and easy stance.

What happens next is one of the most exciting, terrifying things of my life. Every move he makes is defence, but it's offence - he catches me as I stumble and doesn't make a single hit, but his blocks are enough to shake my arms to the bone.

I manage to land a single kick to his gut when he catches my foot and flips it up with enough force to lift my leg up into a split over his head. He jumps forward and catches my knee over his shoulder, wrapping arms around my biceps.

"You're such a _flirt_." I'm grumpy, make no mistake.

I don't loose easily, I don't often lose, and I don't loose well at all.

"You kick pretty hard."

I scowl.

"Not hard enough, apparently." I try to pull out of the hold but he just blinks innocently at me. "Hah hah, you can let go now, hot stuff."

"Why?"

I briefly narrow my eyes. Fine. That's just fine. He wants to play hardball. I play hardball.

I do the kind of things you see in Mission Impossible; something I'll never be able to explain or replicate again. There was only instinct, spinning, and a whole lot of grunting, then we were both on our knees, as I'm trying to land a smack on his head. His forearms and elbows do all the work for him, so naturally I get frustrated.

I drop back and push back up with my hands, catch him in the chest with my feet. I push up, land with a knee either side of his head, aimed a fist at his nose.

"I'm not going to say I mind, because I don't." his grin is wolfish. "Good job, Kit."

* * *

Two hours more in that gym, spotting his weights, him spotting mine, various stretches and constant warm ups... I came out sore and aching in places that hadn't ached in forever.

I thought I was pretty hardcore on my own- I wasn't. He was pouring sweat, his chest flushed and angry. My arms were blotched and red to match. I lost my breath and didn't catch it for like, an hour after we were done, laying mostly naked under a fan, in his apartment at Stark Tower.

It would've been extremely uncomfortable if someone had walked in and seen us, in varying state of undress and covered in sweat, as we were. It looked liked some serious sex had happened.

"Alright. I'll give it to you, Kitten. You go pretty hard for a civilian."

"Not so bad yourself, Cupid." I could barely lifted my head to look at him. "Points?"

"No. I've had Cupid before. Try again."

I nearly laugh, but the thought of how much pain that chuckle will cost me just makes me smile instead.

"Do you always do that to yourself?"

"Not really. Can't afford to." he's got his eyes closed, hands on his ribs. His stomach is made up by a hard pack of abs, still sweaty. "If I get called out- business, you know - I'd prefer not to go out hurting like this. Can't seize up mid shot."

"Hah, hurt you, did I?"

He swings his head over to me, bright eyes pop open.

"Don't get cute. I can still go round two." he's teasing, but completely serious.

"Don't challenge me, man, I have a stubborn streak."

"I know."

I send him a weak glare.

"Don't be hinting like you set that up on purpose."

"There may have been a slight set up. I read the articles."

"Aaaaand he drops this now."

"I read the profile, too."

"There's a profile?" I try to sit up, but something spasms and I can't move. I clutch my legs, dig hard fingers into my upper thigh and hiss through my teeth.

"Cramp?" his head hovers over mine.

"OW." is all I can articulate, even if I'm a writer and wield my words like swords. "Ow. SHIT."

"Move." a single thumb presses into the muscle of each leg as he rubs my pain. He effectively has me cringing_ into _and _away from _his hands, which are either the best thing or the worst thing I've ever had in my life.

"OH GOD. OH MY ACTUAL GOD."

"Not the first time a lady's said that when I've been between her legs. Gotta say it isn't the first time I've been rubbing cramps out of her, either."

"Shut up, don't stop!"

"That too."

He dutifully does as he is told with more vigour, and a great big grin. When I stop seizing and am left letting him rub because - ah, hello? - Hotguy rubbing the ever loving shit out of your thighs, you don't exactly encourage him to stop.

"You right there?"

"Mm." I crack open an eye. "Wanna do my back while I've got you here?"

He chuckles, helps me onto my feet.

"You've got great hands." I tell him. "But that was like childbirth."

"That was not as messy as childbirth." he says. "And yes, I have _amazing _hands."

"And apparently an ego to rival Stark's."

"Please. I'm aware of my talents and give myself due credit. Tony invents his."

"Tony didn't put hands on me." I point out.

"Tony has Pepper." he returns, gives my sports bra, sweaty belly, freshly massaged thighs a long once over. "I don't have a Pepper."

"If you did?"

"If I had a Pepper?" he considers that. "She'd probably kill you for making all that noise."

"Psh!" I flap my hands at him. "You liked the noise!"

"Yes, but, my Pepper wouldn't, would she?"

I find that the blush on my face has more to do with Mr. Feathers and the shirtlessness of our situation than it does about the workout I'm still reeling from. He goes to the fridge with his stupid Hotguy strut, retrieves water, and throws one to me that hurts when I try and catch it. I guzzle half, keeping my eye on him. He returns the favour, make no mistake.

I wait until we lower the bottle at the same time. He smacks his lips and wipes his arm over his mouth, waiting for my question.

"What's your ideal Pepper- your ideal woman?"

He takes a few steps to the side and pulls himself up onto the counter, crunching his muscles. While he takes a slower drink of water, I grab my camera.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking a photo of your arms. And your abs. Not your face, so you'll be fine."

"I feel like a piece of meat." he says, lifting the bottle to his mouth. It stretches his torso out, his bicep tensed

"Flex." I tell him, and he does as he's drinking. "You said you read the articles, you must know I'm going straight to hell. Also-" I flick my water bottle at him, making water run down the cavity of his chest. I snap a few more pictures that highlight mostly faded bruises, a few interesting battle scars I don't dare ask about.

"So. Your Pepper." I say, and move to the side, lifting both arms to the side so his back is rippling and dented. "What would her cons be?"

"Cons?" he looks over his bulging shoulder. "Shouldn't I be wondering about her pros?"

"You already know what her pros are. I can pretty much tell you what her pros are. Nice smile, great sense of humour, good in bed, good in the kitchen. It's how you deal with the bad that makes her your Pepper. You've seen those two together?"

"Not really. Pepper is a professional - not that Tony doesn't try. Thor's more a nuisance than Stark is, much as I like the guy. Thor mopes when Jane goes M.I.A."

"It's horrible. And adorable. He's just a big sweetheart. Now. Your lady- what's her cons?"

He considers this, goes quiet for a minute.

"I don't care what her cons are. I deal with everything." he says finally. "She just has to come home to me."

It's lucky I'm standing behind him because I'm melting. Not that he won't read this and know the exact effect he had on me - probably straight women everywhere. So, I finish melting and wonder over to his front side.

He's just staring back, his face blank.

"You're awfully easy to please." I tell him.

His lips quirk but the smile doesn't bring up those laugh lines, the ones I find insanely gorgeous on him.

"Come on. You're a nice lookin' dude. Clearly you've had it on with a lady or two."

"Or three."

"Think of the worst things you'd put up with when you're with her. Them. Those three women you've dated."

"Nightmares." he says instantly. "Not good when she wakes up and tries to stab you in the throat." he motions to a thin scar of his neck, and I guess because the ball is rolling, he keeps talking.

"I've put up with a bunch. Hyperactivity, insomnia. Snoring. Kicking. Most of the women I've met are highly trained, so kicking me out of bed - while they're asleep - is a breeze. I've had a woman pick me up and body slam me. Which hurt my pride more than my body, and I mean, I couldn't exactly retaliate, she was half my size, I'd just snap her in half - Hell, f'she gets hold of this I'm done for. I guess that in the field a sound knowledge of martial arts is something I've learned to deal with."

"You put up with physical abuse?"

"S'not all bad. Keeps me on my toes."

I have to think about that. I'm not a therapist. I think: "How did that make you feel?" is a dodgy question. So instead of trying to fix him, I just ask what it is I want to know.

"What kept you?" I say finally. "With them...After all the, er... Aforementioned?"

"Sex." he nods, like this is obvious. "And I can't cook for shit."

"Way to go ruin the fantasy. You know you've got a minor cult following of women and gays everywhere, don't you?" I raise my brows at him.

"As opposed to Thor?" he drawls.

"Thor's taken. So's Stark. That leaves you, Mr. Huge'n'Green, and Mr-Wears-a-Mask. I think you're on a number of arm porn websites."

"Arm...porn."

"Yes. Arm porn. Google- Actually, don't Google it without the safe search on." I put my camera down and put my hands on the bench opposing him, wincing as I pull my rather abused corpse up to mirror him.

"You're being serious." he's just watching my face now. "Arm porn?"

"Yeah, I am. As if I'd have balls enough to lie to you." I snort.

"You had balls enough to beat me up."

"You weren't saying no."

"Not to mention the alien massacre." he points out. "Them's big lady balls to do that."

"You're a lot better looking than they were, too."

"And when Jane was attacked, you stepped right on up to that plate."

I strangely feel like he's trying to make some kind of point.

"Between aliens and bad guys, lyin' to me is the least of your worries. You could've died twice over."

"I have nightmares about it, if you want to cuddle me through them."

"That so, Kitten?" His grin is back, and it's devious. Somewhat delicious.

"And I wouldn't abuse you in any way you wouldn't like." I wiggle my brows, and he laughs, actually laughs. It's a good sound, hearty, from the belly. The belly that's tensing and lickable, which I can see because he's not wearing a shirt.

_Did I mention that?_

I rub my eyes to stop looking.

_Stop looking. It's not like you haven't seen abs before._

_Not any like that._

_I want to grate cheese on that shit._

_It'd probably just melt...from the hotness._

_Hormones, be gone!_

_Hot damn. Flexing. He's flexing. Jesus, I'm going to hell._

_Don't look._

Now I make like I'm yawning and cover my massive lion-yawn with both hands.

_I want to touch._

_Touch with my tongue._

_STOP IT, BLACK!_

_Self control, self control... Self control, self control... Self control, self control... _

_Your mother will be reading this._

_STEVE, will be reading this._

_Bugger!_

When I remove my hand he's standing directly in front of me - le _gasp_! - with a hand on either side of my hips. I didn't hear him move, but there he is, smirking into my face like I've just made the most hilarious joke in the world.

"I'll be right back." he says, and removes himself from my personal bubble.

"Yup." Because that proximity was doing those hormones no favours.

Don't judge me!

I wait about ten minutes before I wonder if he's fallen into the bathroom, or something. I swallow the rest of my water, aim and shoot the bottle into the trash. It swings dangerously around the rim, then goes in.

I fistpump my victory.

"Nice shot."

"WOAH!" I fling my hands up in a rapid defence kind of move, but do it too fast and end up falling off the counter. I catch myself in an awkward half crouch, hanging onto the ledge for dear life. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"I'd say there's a very long list."

His shirt is back on. A tight black one. His hair is wet and he smells like clean body. Mother, Steve, avert eyes NOW - It may be marginally better than sweaty body, mostly because the clean body makes me want to make it smell like sweaty body again, in all the fun ways, in all the fun positions, most of those not even potentially deadly. I clutch at the space above my pounding heart.

"UGH. Ugh! Ugh. Ugghh. I'm abstaining from intercourse with you. Social intercourse. All forms of-" now I'm going all Steve at him, there's no other way to phrase it.

"Shut _up_, Hotguy."

"Hot guy?"

"It's one word. Instead of Hawkeye. I've been calling you that in my mind all day. Don't let it go to your head. It'll grossly inflate and you won't be hot any more. I need a drink... My poor nerves."

He's laughing at me behind his hand.

"I don't think alcohol will help the situation."

"Sure it will. Actually-" no, it won't. I am a rather affectionate drunk, and when paired with Hotguy... No. Noooo. "-You had a shower."

Now I'm thinking about him in the shower.

Oh, nothing I do is helping.

"I want a shower."

"We could've showered together." he says mildly.

I'm now crying on the inside for not suggesting it first.

"Now you will never see my tattoo." I retort, and march past him.

"Tattoo?" he says, and is managing to keep my scorned woman's pace. "What's it of?"

"You'll never know."

Of course, Doc and Tony have seen my tattoo, from that unfortunate incident of me getting completely blotto and losing my pants. If Hawkeye really wanted to know, he could ask them. Or JARVIS.

Or he could come and check himself.

I shoo him away and keep my eyes on the locked door the entire time I'm in the shower, paranoid now, thanks to his silence and knack of scaring me. I wash the sweat and grime from my hair, relax under the burning heat of water. Then I get out, dry, make sure my hair isn't wet, and venture forth.

I don't know where he is. So I back up into a wall to have a decent chance of catching him. Apparently, he's expecting that, because he's somehow managed to slide up the side of the wall and waits for me to turn - horror movie slow - and check that it's him.

"I'm starting to regret you." I tell him flatly.

"Oh baby, don't be so cold. I'm not that bad."

"Take your shirt off again and I'll deal with the jump scares."

"You take yours off." his eyes drop to the V off my collar, then flick back up to my face.

"Just because you've been challenging me all day doesn't mean I'm taking my clothes off when you tell me to."

"So I have to do it when you tell me to?" he's pulling the double standards sexism card on me. I can see it all in the eyebrows.

But I don't care.

"I was up for returning the back rub, but hey, I'm starving. Let's eat something. Got any favourites?"

"Not any you can order legally."

"I'm not entirely sure if that's a sexual innuendo."

"Part of it is."

"Then I'm not asking. Are you allowed to eat pizza?"

"Course I am. I'm not deprived. I only eat meatlovers."

"Good choice." I'm a fan of Hawaiian, myself, but the argument over weather or not it's acceptable to have fruit on pizza is not one I want to have tonight.

I'd much rather revist the talk of massages and taking items of clothing off.

Hawkeye then informs me that we have to walk to get it. Yay, exercise. He says he'll shout and I let him get the pizza, but I get the beer. He seems surprised at the beer drinking - I refer him on to the Tony Stark article.

"Grew up in a man's world, Katniss." I say, as we ride the elevator down.

"Katniss has already happened, too."

"I'll find one." I assure him.

There's a small break in which dainty elevator music is heard.

"I saw on your file you have a gun license, two firearms _that we know of_."

He's staring at the side of my face but I keep my eyes trained on the crack of the elevator doors. I don't know why it's come as a shock to me that he's looked this up, but it has. And I'm wondering why I was so easy with the other Avengers - was it because they didn't have his kind of high intensive training, the foresight to double check me, then ask me about it?

"I obey the law. I have my registered firearms and that's it."

"Liar."

I don't know why he accuses me of this. I am an innocent party. So I change the subject.

"Why'd you background check me, Mr. Eye?"

"You took down an alien swarm with nothing but two handguns?" he's pushing this line of questioning. I put it down to interrogation 101, and again, change the subject.

"I hope it's not a long walk to this pizza place. Or you can carry me home."

He snickers.

"I wouldn't mind carrying you home."

The elevator dings and opens; thankfully, the tension that was beginning to suffocate me was let out, and let out quickly. I step out into the cloud of potential sexiness and follow on to the outside world.

In the same second he steps out, he goes cold. It's like he flips a switch inside his head. He's still cracking jokes, but he's got eyes on every corner, on ever man in a hat, every rooftop and he's sticking to my side like glue.

At first I think he's inhaled too much of the aforementioned sexual tension but he casually directs me around a bum who's reeking of piss and booze before I even see him lunge out of the alleyway.

"I get the feeling you're on bodygaurd duty."

"I've never been on direct bodygaurd duty." he replies calmly.

"Paranoid?"

"Absolutely."

He allows me out of his sight to go around the corner and purchase the beers - Only a six pack, because that's enough. I can't find him when I go back to the pizza shop, and just confirm that he's made the order and hasn't picked it up yet.

He makes me feel like I'm oblivious to things. I hadn't taken my eyes off the counter once; but he's on the chair beside me with the pizza box open and a beer can cracked, taking a steady draw on it, before woofing down his first slice.

"You... Are actually... Kind of frightening." I casually take a hanging bit of bacon from his slice and put it in my mouth.

"Fright'nin'?" he swallows the mouthful. "Ah, hell, Kitten. I'm trying to be nice."

"Then why do you keep popping up like that?" Now I'm stealing his beer and taking a mouthful of that.

"You'll get used to it." he says with a grin. "C'mon. I got the beer."

He's still jumpy, still on high alert. I can see his eyes darting, his hackles rising. He thinks he's so cool, but I can see the training, now. We get back to Stark Tower; a bunch of people drool over the smell of the pizza, but he just ignores it. These squares in suits ogle my pizza box like they haven't eaten in years, ignoring the mean glare I'm shooting over the top of it.

We eat, heartily, in front of a muted TV, playing what I think is V for Vendetta.

"Mm. Tell me." I nudge his leg with my foot. "There were like, months, between Thor's interview 'n' yours. How come it took so long to get to you 'n'... Spider Lady?"

He snorts at the name.

"Why?" he tosses me my next can. "You wish you had me first, huh?"

"Tony was the perfect first." I say, and tip my mostly empty can at him. "He broke the ice for the rest of you to come on through. Imagine if I had've met you first, developed a mild anxiety about men popping up randomly and trying to run me into the ground. Think about how the conversations would've gone between Steve and Doc."

"Don't get anxious. I'll stop." he knocked his can against mine. "You're alright, Kit. You would've found a way."

"Usually do." I sip the beer, roll it around, think of something to say. "So. Spider Lady. I get a lot of warnings about her."

"From who?" there's this history, the familiar twinkling in his eyes I remember from Tony, concerning Pepper. "What kind of warnings?"

I consider my next words, drain the beer, open the next one.

"Not to sound like I'm big noting..." I drawl, and sit back in my chair, kicking legs up onto the foot stool. "I got a bunch of fanmail. Mostly to pass on to Tony - Hell, a few were paternity suits, which can't really say surprised me but - after the Hulk one went out-" I shrug one shoulder.

"People who know him, people who're... Ah... close, or in contact with my boyfriend Nick-"

He lets out a very loud 'HAH!', and tips his head back up to the ceiling.

"I can't believe he's letting you call him your boyfriend Nick."

"Nick loves me." he gives another loud laugh. "Nick has had no complaints about how I write, or what I've written."

"It's priceless, calling him that, and you don't even know it."

"I'm apparently a hero, to these 'friends', of my dearly beloved." I snicker in return.

Try to remember that if I'm suddenly snipped down, Nick's to blame!

"I love it, Kit. Love it. Go on. You were sayin' about the fanmail?"

"Yeah! These..."

"Associates."

"Good word. Associates they started telling me I was right on the money, how they were more easy around Doc 'n' how the ladies stopped hitting on Steve so hard. They also told me what they knew Thor to be like, you and the Lady Spider. They told me I should be fine with Thor, but you two were who I needed to be concerned about. Particularly-"

"Black Widow." He corrects me. "Not Spiderlady."

"Whatever. Still got eight legs. Shit; she doesn't have eight legs, does she?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Woah, woah, woah. I see you grinnin' over there, Feathers. What's the goss?"

"There's no goss. Trust me. Me 'n' Widow are just..."

"History. I can smell it in your pheromones you reek of history with the foxy redhead, you dog!" I laugh, because he's not denying it, just grinning, shaking his head. "Tell me I have not spent all day suffering through massive amounts of sexual tension just to be offed by the spider?"

"I don't mean to make you suffer."

"Liar." I scoff, and because he's still grinning, I know my cause is lost. "Oh, whatever. I'll get it from her."

"No you won't." he promises me shortly.

"Didn't say I had to publish it." I mention into the rim of my can. "Off the record... We may end up being besties, discussing you behind our hands, giggling, writing Mrs. Barton all over our binders. Love hearts with arrows shot through them 'n' - oh, how appropriate, Mr. Tell."

"Tell? As in- William, Tell?"

"_Tell_ me I get the points."

"Very punny. But no. I've had that before. And mind what you say about Black Widow - I wouldn't put it past either one of you to team up and try'n hurt my feelings." then he snorts. "Although neither of you are the giggling type. None of you seem to be."

"Your lady friends have histories together too?" I laugh.

"Count yourself as one of 'em already, Kit?"

"Shut up, Hotguy."

"Yes, ma'am."

Then we finish dinner, and he criticises every single action movie I pick out on believability, paired against similar stunts he had endured and can't actually relive due to post traumatic stress.

He makes me watch him juggle - twelve inch knives - I nearly die.

"Oh Jesus, I can't do this."

"What happened to nerves of steel?"

"Don't smirk at me like that, you lose a finger and you'll be instantly less attractive."

He stops.

"Thinking about my fingers, Kit?"

Then he makes me sit through The Illusionist.

* * *

This is another one of those things I can only remember because I'm prompted by the recording. I nearly didn't hear it; then I nearly didn't write it. But the fact of the matter is, it happened, and I have to include it, because it may be just a lil' bit funny.

I ended up dozing on the couch, and his hand on my shoulder shook me awake.

"Mm?"

"Hey you. Get into bed."

"Mmnn." I'm not a happy camper.

"It's late." he's using this, husky half-sleep voice. _Very nice_. "You've only got a few more hours 'till you have to go."

"We crash on the couch?" I inhale through my nose, sleep clouding common sense.

"You seem to have a habit of doing that. Get up."

"Nu uh." I pull a blanket - where did the blanket appear from? - tighter over my legs. I groan, because every muscle is hurting and letting me know all about it. "Go way. Sleeping now."

"Kit, you'll mess up your neck sleeping like that."

"Give you an excuse t' kiss it better."

"Ha. You're a mess. Here." I vaguely remember him putting his hand under my head and lowering me down, stuffing a pillow under my neck. "You alright?"

"Mm. Yup. Wake me if you want to snuggle."

There's a mild, considering pause.

"Kitten, I'd love it if you came and snuggled with me some more."

I am literally smashing my forehead into the desk as I hear this again, making my headache rocket around my skull. I'm either a giant idiot or a sucker for punishment, maybe both.

"More?" I sound rightly confused.

"You cuddle people in your sleep. Did you know that?"

"Mm." I just yawn. "Refer to... The Good Doctor. I hurt."

"Me too. Guess you'll want me to rub you better, right?"

"Sure do. We can have oils and-" I cut myself off with another tiny, girly sounding yawn. "-I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep now, Barton?"

"Heh. Yeah. Sleep tight."

"You too."

I also snore.

_Good going, Black._

* * *

I wake up of my own merit ten minutes before I'm supposed to be packed and gone.

"Bugger."

I storm into the bathroom, utilize the facilities, wash the make up off my face. I'm still not entirely awake when I run straight into Hawkeye's chest, and- I may or may not squeal into both hands.

"And here I thought you were a relatively alert civilian."

"SHUT_ UP _HOTGUY." I smack his arm, and wince with a small groan. "_Everything_ huuuurts."

"You're telling me." He rubs his offended limb. "Sorry. I thought I should find you."

"Yeah - seven minutes to go." I sigh, rub my neck.

"Sore?"

"I slept like a rock. Did you wake me?"

And probably because he knows I'm going to hear otherwise:

"No." he grins like the devil himself. "Why, you dream about me?"

"They were nightmares." I correct.

"I told you I deal with nightmares."

I scowl, look at my mussed clothes. They'll have to do.

"Yeah yeah. How'd you sleep? Did you nearly stab me all the times you heard me moving?"

"No. I'm _highly_ trained. I know the difference between threats. All you were threatening to do was fall off the couch."

"Psh." I wave a single hand at him. "Well. You know. This was interesting."

"I thought so. Not every day a guy meets a lady like you."

"You sound like Steve. Taking notes on proper masculinity?"

"I read. You swooned an awful lot around him. I'll be more'n keen to read what goes on in your head around me."

"Lots of violence. All you had to do was ask."

He laughs. I rub my eyes, mostly to hide my smile.

"What about Legolas?" I muse at my own palm. "Surely no one's-"

"Stark beat you to that punch." he puts one hand on the doorframe over my shoulder. If I didn't know any better, I might assume that he's flirting with me for realz. "You keep mentioning you're a nerd, but the Lord Of The Rings, really?"

"I don't see a problem with it. And to further test out my nerdiness... Susan?"

"Susan?" he cocks a brow. "Who the hell's Susan?"

"You are." I press his nose to further demonstrate this. "Now, I have to go."

"Where's Susan come from?"

"You know how to utilize a computer. I've been through this with Steve, so you must understand, as you keep bringing up your reading prowess."

"Why are you in such a rush to get away from me?" he puts the other arm up, leans in just a touch. "You stayed later for Hulk and Thor..."

"I didn't have dates on those days. Today is different." I tell him. It's not a lie, I've made plans to see the Good Doctor again, this time, for more than just a one sided session where he spins science at me. We're going out for lunch, and to take him shopping for clothes - something he needs, desperately, as he keeps either ripping all his other ones with his 'growth spurts', or ruining with some more science.

I have to pick him up in ten minutes, and take him away from his lab, before he goes stir crazy.

"Any one you want me to double check for you?"

"No one I can't handle with my feminine wiles." I coo, and put a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing at the tension I find there. "Relax, Susan. Not everyone's out to get me."

"It's surprising to me you don't have more enemies..." He rolls his head to the side and allows me to circle my thumb around a particular knot. "With your mouth, and all."

"This mouth gets me out of as much trouble as it gets me into." I purse my lips, then crack a grin. "Geeze, who's the cat out of you or me, Suzie? You're falling asleep there, you know that, right?"

"It's not my fault." he muses, looking at me through half closed lids. "It feels _good_."

"Everything I do feels good. Beside, you know, kicking you around yesterday."

"Heh." he inhales, and sighs, sending a large waft of mouthwash scented breath swirling around my head. "Where's your date at? I might tag along."

"You will not." I retract my hand from his person, which makes his eyes open. He gives me a quizzical brow like: '_Why_, did you stop?' "I won't let you."

"You wouldn't even know I was there." he promises me.

I know that, thanks.

"Creeper. I already have a stalker, anyway, what good are you?"

"I can be intimidating when I want. I could watch the way he interacts with you and tell you his intentions. I could find your stalker and give him a stern talking to if it'll make you feel better." He now leans on his forearms, which leaves a very limited amount of space between our faces- we're sharing the same breath. I try to take steady ones, but that just isn't going to happen.

"I don't mind being stalked. He just stays in his corner, and I stay in mine. If it escalates... I will deal with it accordingly."

"You're not a damsel, I know. These things, unfortunately, are my forte, so I'm obligated by moral purpose to at least volunteer my services. Only if you wanted me to, would I do something about it - I know enough women kicking up a fuss when I try and do things without asking."

"Widow trained you well, did she?"

He laughs.

"There were a few before Widow, but she did some hard time. If you asked nicely, maybe, I can come and tell you where he watches you from, or what he sees from vantage points." He studies the scoff that comes out of my mouth. "And if my scoping out of your stalker ended up leading to dinner again, then I would have to deal with that."

"I'm going on a date today." I remind him, endlessly amused.

"You're exhibiting signs that this 'date' is either platonic, female, gay or other wise uninterested in making you a taken lady. I'll pick you up at six?"

"No." I push at his chest half heartedly. "You and I are trouble."

"Trouble is fun. It's just a meeting between two consenting adults..."

"You sound like you're explaining sex to a twelve year old." I smile up at him, realise my hand is still on his chest. Realize I've seen how cut and shiny that chest gets, and remove my touch from his person before I'm tempted to pull his shirt over his head and simply stare. "And as if you can read me like that?"

"As if I can't." he teases. "You wouldn't let me stay this close if you were in some kind of serious thing. Who're you going to meet, one of your brothers?"

"Hulk." I say, and lift my chin. "So if my stalker makes a move, my date'll take care of me. Can you dispute that? No, I didn't think you could. Now, you get out of my way so I'm not late for my date, I already have to wear this mess out in public."

"You look good." he says, and leans back, his shoulder blades on the frame across from me, which makes his hips jut out in what I perceive as an invitation of the brazen, sexual kind. "You'll be honest, when you write about me, won't you Kit?"

"Stay tuned and find out for yourself."

We shake hands. It's very mature, if you ignore the copious amounts of flirting. And, you know, how I'm tempted to knee him right in the balls just to see if I can land the hit when he isn't expecting it. (I told him I had violence on my mind.) After a few seconds of socially unacceptable holding of the hands, I clear my throat.

"Mr. Barton."

"Ms. Black."

* * *

And to answer your question, Hawkeye...

I'm _always_ honest.

* * *

**BTW? Those of you who didn't get it... Susan is from Narnia, Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe. )**


	7. Lady Eight Legs

_Lady Eight Legs_

* * *

She's just...

If I'm fit, and struggle to maintain that level of fitness, she's downright_ fabulous_.

I've never seen a more gorgeous, intimidating,_ deadly _woman. The power that rolled off her was in the same league as Pepper's, but it was a different kind of power, just as Jane's was.

She reaches out a hand and her palm alone is equal parts calloused and equal parts soft. I can already see by the jaw-dropping catsuit and the bouncy curls that this is going to be perhaps the most interestingly difficult Avenger I've met.

"You know the rules about names by now." she says in a smooth husk. "So whatever you want to call me is fine. This way."

"Where are we going?"

"Away."

Naturally, I'm concerned for my life.

"As opposed to Stark Tower?"

"I like to break moulds." she says in this particularly lethal way that implies she also likes to break hearts, and faces.

"Going to kill me, Miss Widow?"

_That's one way to handle it._

"Hardly." she looks over her shoulder at me. "Stop panicking. I have a separate place for myself."

"Just making sure."

"I'm not going to kill you. I'm not allowed." I can't see her face, so I just take a big breath and try and imagine that she's smiling in a joking way, but all I can think of it is being serial-killer-esque. Oh, and my last words were all about flirting with her ex.

Awesome.

Tony, I bequeath unto you my clothes to my nieces DO NOT TOUCH THEM. The nieces Don't touch my nieces Make sure Steve gets married to a nice girl - wait, as if you'd know nice girls.

Pepper, Jane - Thor! - please look after Steven and his love life. I was going to try my hand at match maker myself - refer to the plethora of nieces above; Steven, you'll make an excellent match one day, try looking a little closer to home.

Mew, it was a pleasure while it lasted. You were the best kind of pussy.

Doc, you can put my dead hands on as many flowers as you like! I also bequeath unto you my lifetime supply of coupons to that cafe that I protected from the invasion... I don't know if it works, since I died and all, but they have amazing pastries.

Hawkeye - just - This is _clearly _your fault. Give my undying love to Nick.

As you can probably assume by reading this, I did not die, but trust me, I was certain of it the entire time I was there, and these were the kind of things filtering through my brain.

We take a cab ride - walk a little - do some things I can't repeat, nor reattempt; then I'm treated to a wide open space. There's nothing on the walls but some well-used targets. There's a domed roof, a punching bag and weapons, a couch that's endlessly long in a deep blue grey colour. Incense, candles, a stainless steel kitchen. it's all very neat, bright and tidy, but there are no windows and that makes it unnerving.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks, riding herself of her steady shoes. "Drink?"

"What kind of drink?"

"What would you like?" the smile that curls on her mouth looks like it's containing the world's most misleading venom.

"Whatever you're having."

"Coffee it is." she busies herself, brings back the little black coffees. She nods to the lounge and we take our respective seats, at what I deem is a respectably comfortable distance, though I'm bordering on being rude, too far away.

For a while I sit and watch her. She seems to be almost a billion miles away, lost to her own mind, so I study the repetitive smoothness of her actions, and start to time my watch by them, every thirteen seconds, like clock work, she daintily sips her caffeine, and then returns the mug to her knee.

Her features are effortless. Timeless. She is absolutely stunning. I can't name the colours of her eyes, hair or skin, not because of my boyfriend Nick, but because she's asked me to, nicely.

All I can say is that she is gorgeous to look at and it's no wonder I have this sudden inadequacy complex. Like I said- I'm fit, and I work my ass off to call myself that - but she's fitter. I'm not ugly but she does put me to shame. I'm not wearing make up, but neither is she, and she makes me look like I've actively tried to pull the painful writer thing.

I cringe when her coffee is done and she stares back.

"I need that every time I come home." she says quietly. "Empty out my mind. It's very peaceful."

"I got that vibe."

I taste the bitter coffee. I feel nervous.

"So, Spider. Why a spider? Aren't they unnecessarily creepy?"

"I don't mind spiders." she tells me. "The Black Widow, is my actual name."

"I'll refrain from asking why... I won't be able to publish it, anyway."

She smiles. Her back is ramrod straight, the posture is royal, arms hanging loosely over her thighs. I notice I'm slouching, and clear my throat.

"Right. I'd like to know if you read the rest of the Avengers articles I've written?"

"Every single one."

"So you're gonna go goo-goo for Hawkeye?"

"I don't go goo-goo." She rolls her eyes briefly. "Especially not for that loser."

That answer is so surprising I splurt out a massive laugh I try to forcibally catch with one hand.

"Ho-kay, Lady Eight Legs. Why's he a loser?"

She shifts one leg over the other leans back into her couch with a big sigh, nestling her head against the cushion.

"He's my friend, that's all. I've known him too long."

"Oh, one of _those _romances."

She raises a slow, slender eyebrow. I correct myself.

"Romances. I said that out loud, didn't I? Right. Well. Relationships. Is that better?"

"Anything is better than romance."

"Had one of those myself. His name was Glenn. We were this crazy, on again, off again, love affair going on nearly ten years, and he hated me most of his adult life."

"You're using the past tense."

Of course, she's going to pick up on that.

"He died."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. But, back to the Bird's Eye Guy."

She gives me a small smile.

"You think you can clip those wings," she purrs. "Go ahead."

"I don't wanna clip the wings." I say, a sly smile on my mouth. "I wanna ride them."

"That's good." she nods once. "He doesn't like cages."

"Not the kind to cage anyone. I like space."

"We all do."

Then, the awkward silence. I swear I'm going to start feeling the affects of arsenic in my coffee, or some kind of sneaky drug, but nothing happens, yet. I take religious sips of my half finished beverage until it's all gone, then hold onto it, as she has hers.

Taking pointers from the lovely Widow?

Duh.

"I don't spend much time with civilians who know who, and what, I am." she says smoothly. "I know this is your interview but I'd like to run some things past you, if that's alright."

"Yeah." Anything to get rid of this silence. It's making my palms sweat. "Shoot." then I cringe, and sigh.

"All the words I could've used as encouragement, that had to be the one that came out of my mouth. Of course it did."

"I'm not going to kill you." she says again.

"Would you like to?"

She seems surprised.

"You really are always honest."

"To a fault." I say and steel myself. "Seriously, though. Should I be concerned?"

"No. But, I wouldn't want you to be either way so..." she sits up, her movements lethargic and slow. "You wouldn't know I was on you until you were dead. The fact that these little conversations of yours have gone viral and are being hailed as a perfect score across more continents than just this one doesn't help my cause. I like being anonymous. It's part of why I chose to do what I do."

And I can't ask what that is, because she could tell me, and then, you know. Kill me.

"To answer the question; No. I like you. I like the interviews and, yes, I've read them all. You're not exactly normal." her mouth does this familiar quirk that reminds me of Mr. Feathers. "I like that. If you had've been say, Felicity Paige-"

I roll my eyes so hard they're in danger of getting stuck looking at my brain.

"-I would've already drugged you. Just to take the edge off. I can't deal with winginess, clinginess, weakness."

"She is all of that. And more." I scowl. "We went to high school together."

For those of you not aware, Felicity Paige is my rival. She is everything I'm not - apart from the fact we are both in the business of writing for a living and possibly share a gender, though I can't confirm she's of my race.

She is short. She is a liar. Bottle blonde. Breasts like you wouldn't believe. She's lazy, writes bullshit for bullshit people, doesn't know how to have a proper conversation or what cues to take from people. I'm confident but she wears hers so badly it's arrogant.

And she can come the f*ck at me with Defamation of character, because it's not like we haven't done this dance before.

"I know." she replies smoothly.

"If Flick had've gotten the place over me - which she petitioned for, dragged me through the mud for - she would've slept with Tony. She would've ruined Pepper. She probably would've stolen something of extreme value and, she'd be spreading secrets around like a wild fire. Never mind when, she got to Doc, if she even made it there through Nick - she would've been bored by his secret side and made him Hulk out just to tell the story. And I'd be sitting back with a handicam, watching him pummel the silicone right out of her chest."

The Widow laughs at the description.

"I'm sensing bad blood." she muses.

"I try to let it go. It was high school. When she got her big break I was happy for her, because it's hard to do. I tried to get in contact to offer said congratulations and she turned around and claimed I'd frequently beat her up during high school. I envisioned it, multiple times, I didn't touch her if I could help it." I sigh shortly.

She's still getting to me and she's not even here to revel in the fallout. That's what happens when you spend years hating someone and they end up doing better than you.

"But look at me, goin' on. Sorry."

"Anger is a good way for people to forget stress." she says with a quirked smile. "I researched your triggers."

I may or may not be staring blankly now.

"Why?"

"Because I know people." she gets to her feet. "We are going out, today. I decided that we would go shopping. Tell me what high school is like while I put some appropriate clothes on."

"High school?" I repeat, following along, empty coffee mug in hand.

"Yes. I never attended as a student." she disappears in the darkness of her room, not bothering to close the door, or turn on a light. I assume some kind of ninja technology is used, because I don't hear her doing anything.

"Hm. High school. Well you know in movies how there are a bunch of cliques...? Yeah, that happens. But I was that reject bouncing through them all, so I'm fairly well rounded when I say that it sucked. I mean, the work was easy, and knowing people as they grew up is always fun but, being a black sheep in a roomful of kids isn't."

"A black cat." her voice comes out of the dark, but I can't hear rustling of clothes, shoes on carpet, nothing.

"Hah, yeah. That'd be me. No one wanted to cross my path."

"That would make two of us. Though I didn't have an official record until I was at least sixteen."

I look up at the roof. Here's another one who's run background checks on me.

"Hypothetically, if you could save a baby but kill a truck load of adults, or save the adults and kill the baby, what would you do?"

Woah. Okay. That swung out of no where.

"Depends." is the first thing out of my mouth. "Are the baby's family in the vehicle or not?"

There's a brief pause.

"Yes. The family is in the truck."

"Save the baby." I return.

"Explain how that made your decision."

"The family won't have to mourn the baby if they're dead."

She emerges, wearing a pretty lavender dress, highlighted by striking black lines that make her waist appear smaller than it already is. It's a stiff fabric, going to her knee, where boots climb her slender calves to meet her. She dons black accessories - a clutch, thick bangle, and ring - and looks like a social elitist.

Meanwhile, over in a dark corner, I look like a homeless person.

"It doesn't work like that." she tells me. "You would have no way of knowing in the real world application."

"You gave me the hypothetical." I remind her, and lift my cup. "Where should I put this?"

She takes it, collects hers, and washes them quickly in the sink, watching me from under her lashes. I shift, try and get comfortable in my boots, jeans and sweater, but I can't.

"What about if there was a box of kittens teetering on one side of a see-saw, thirty stories in the sky." she says. "And on the other side, two children. What then?"

I furrow my brow.

"I'd get the kids. Thor would get the kittens."

"Thor isn't there."

"Steve'd get the kids, I'd get the kittens."

"It's just you."

She seems determined to make it simple, but I'm not so easily thwarted by a hypothetical.

"I'd stand in the middle and balance out the weight, get the kids off first, and slide the kittens down to me." Then, I surprise her. "What would you do?"

Her eyebrows raise, which is that surprise I mentioned earlier. She considers, blinks slowly, then shrugs.

"Whatever my orders were. I doubt that I'd get sent to save either, but if the mission were specifically aimed a keeping either safe, I'd do it."

"What about if it were both?" I ask. "Both the kittens, and the kids?"

"No one holds that much affinity for animals." she scoffs slightly. "Not enough to require my services. If it was the case, I wouldn't have allowed them to get in such a position to begin with."

We seem to study each other. Well, I say 'seem', because I have no idea was she was looking at me the way she was.

"Your face healed neatly." she says, referring to the thin scar on my cheek, from the Jane Incident.

"Yeah." I touch it, self conscious, now. "Doc did his job right."

"You two seem to be really good friends. I've seen you at the Tower more than once before your last interview." she gives me a discreet, assessing kind of once over. "What's going on there, in the relationship stakes? Seeing as you were so forward about asking about me and Hawk."

"With who?" I raise my brows.

"Either of them. I've been told you keep in somewhat regular contact with everyone, particularly the science division."

"You make me sound like a harlot of some description."

"I think that word was influenced by Steve."

It was.

"I've spoken to Tony maybe once, when he walked in on Doc halfway through a brief call. I talk to both of the nerds - he and Jane - fairly often. Thor can't speak on a phone, there's some kind of electrical problem when he tries, so someone needs to be there to interpret what he's saying. And Steve-" she reminds me, and I can't help but grin. "-is busy with Darcy, these days."

"He sure is." she shakes her head slightly, studies my face. "But you have Doc's direct line."

"Why all the questions, has he said something?"

"Don't ask if he 'like likes' you." she teases slightly "He hasn't said anything romantic. He thinks a few of your theories are helping him out in the lab. He talks about you all the time. That's all."

"Oh." Naw. "I love the guy, he's become one of my best friends. We're just nerdy in a pod, and sometimes being nerdy in a pod means there's a super-nerd with his glow-stick chest and a pretty nerd with her superhero-hot-hammer-wielding boyfriend."

"Feathers says you don't return his emails."

I slap my forehead.

"That's because Feathers' idea of emails is to leave me notes in my_ locked _apartment, which is creepier than you will ever know. I know he knows, but remind him that I have guns in my abode, and seeing post-it notes saying: 'Kit, you need to eat more fruit' is not encouraging my trigger finger to stay still."

She smiles. It's not a particularly venomous smile, but it's quite frightening, because she proceeds to say: "Like the gun you keep in the oven?" and list the various other places I have weapons stashed in my house.

I gape for a second.

"Okay, first of all, I keep a gun in my oven because the kitchen is at the opposite end of the room. If someone kicks in my front door I would have to run past them to get into my room, the more logical place to keep a loaded firearm."

"And he put the safety on."

"I had the safety on." I defend, but at her slanted brow, clear my throat and promptly correct myself. "On most of the... registered weapons I own."

"You have a bullet hole in the door frame." she continues, and that makes me blush, because not only was I already trigger happy, but my paranoia has kicked up a stink ever since the Jane thing, and I may or may not have shot at my door because I thought there was someone in my place.

"Was is him that I was shooting at, that night?"

Her face betrays nothing.

"If you're really that casual about Hawkeye dropping into your apartment at night, I can see why you hit the frame and not anything beyond it."

I scowl, briefly, then wave my hand and clear the air of the embarrassment of a super hot super trained woman hearing that I'd been shooting at shadows.

"I'll get him one day." I promise. "Did he scope me out?"

"Sure he did."

"Oh, yeah, just casually." I roll my eyes. "I'm harmless."

She doesn't buy it.

"It's a habit." she shrugs. "He must at least think you're capable with a gun if he's done it. It isn't as though he removed the bullets from your weapons. That would be an insult of the highest kind. It would be the same as you going into his room and stealing all his condoms."

_I don't know how we got here, but I like where it's going._

"You say that likes they're hidden everywhere- aaaand that smirk just tells me they are. Awesome. Cool. I feel like I've escaped his clutches with my virtue intact."

"You did. I was surprised he managed to control himself." she motions at my chest and legs, and for the love of god, I turn a pretty pink that would make even Steve tease me.

"I don't know how we got onto condoms from guns, I'm not going to lie. I'm a little confused."

"Protection." she says simply. "You know sex - don't give me that look, I'm a woman, I know sex too - and he knows combat. You both know each other's, just one better than the other. Why would he take away something that ensures your safety? Why would you take away that ensures his?"

"Condoms break. Extensive use and friction and heat and..." _Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._ "Why was he there in the first place, sneaking around my place of living, more to the point?"

She shrugs. And quite expertly, employing some kind of shock treatment no doubt acquired through her training, she motions to her own face as a mirror of mine, and comes out from behind the counter.

"You never mentioned him actually hitting your face." she tips her head at me. "In the article about Thor, when the man tried to Jane-nap Jane. Why?"

I blink at her, rather stupidly.

"I couldn't explain what happened. I wasn't fully aware of anything but moving." I'm a little bewildered, not going to lie, about the questions, this whole conversation and it's kind of darkly-casual nature.

"I see." she gives me a once over, slow and steady. "Did he scar you any place else?"

I nod.

"I've made you uncomfortable." she looks at the watch face on the back of her wrist. "And I've made us late. Excuse me. We're going now."

"Shopping." I clarify. "I'm not, ending up in a wheelie bin, somewhere, am I?"

"Please." she gives me a somewhat offended look. "I'm classy."

"Stay classy."

The car ride is almost in complete silence, mostly because I can't identify what language her and her private driver are chatting in. Also, he's big, like Thor-big, and his lack of English makes me focus more on the fact that he's speaking in a consistent growl, as opposed to the deadly woman beside me and her purr.

We get out at a boutique I've never been to before. There's a bouncer at the door, a whole line of ladies staring at us with murder in their eyes. But they still aren't as intimidating - or as beautiful - as the curled woman before me, who shoots them back a look so potent it's like mustard gas, only worse, because it's sheer annoyance in the worst kind of form - Black Widow style.

I'm terrified when we are stopped at a secondary door, just hidden behind some nice golden drapery.

"What?" I say, and even then I recognised I was nervous.

"I'm not going to kill you." she says for the third time. "Or have you killed."

"Uh huh."

Widow gives me a look, and slowly reaches behind me - I gasp - and just when I think I'm about to be, I don't know,_ lesbian'd _to death (not gonna lie, probably the first time I wouldn't have minded dying, in recent times) she removes my gun - the gun I was sure would go undetected, but who the hell was I kidding? - drops the ammo into her hand. She hands the empty shell back and puts the ammo on the table, puts hands under her skirt and removes what appears to be her own gun and knife combo and calmly waits.

I, on the other hand, do two things.

1) Begin to panic, because I rarely go without Bobbi... My gun's name is Bobbi, don't judge me.

2) Become absolutely certain I'm about to die.

Instead, we're shown through to a room, where Widow pulls a golden card from her back pocket and scans it. A heavy door swings open and I gulp, then step through it, head lifted and sure I was about to receive an ominous: "We've been expecting you, Kitten..."

But a girl just lifts her head and grins, before jogging over and giving the Black Widow a hug.

"Oh My God! Gurrrrrl! You look fan_tastic_. Spin, darling, spin!" She twirls Widow, who just smiles and does what she's told. "I have the best, _the best_, dress for you, darling, and this is Kitty Black!"

I believe I got whiplash from the sudden direction change, as I too, am made spin.

"Lovely thighs, darling, _lovely thighs_. Those same thighs you had our Hawkeye rubbing, I love it, I love it, you're a doll." She smacks my ass and spins herself, only changing direction. "You're a darling! Come on, I have clothes for you too!"

I'm reeling. She's gotta be royalty. Or at least a model. Everything in this room is hemmed with gold - and not chrome'd gold, the proper leaf gold - everything else is a rich purple, decorated with vines and the Fleur De Lis. I gape - I'm not dead, just unarmed and sexually accosted by the _single most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on_.

"Her name, today, is Vittoria." Widow informs me. "She works for Nick too, sometimes. She's a master of disguise, and you don't need to hide that fact. No one can ever recognise her. She has multiple personas." she nods to the photos framing the walls.

I'm instantly drawn to the three of Tony Stark, not because he's the only person I know, but because he's clearly pre-Pepper and is_ leering _at a different woman in every single one of them. I just thought I should mention that, because while the woman changes, the leer is exactly the same.

Also, it's very unattractive, Tony.

"Holy shit." I say, and study the different dress sizes, the different heights, skin colourings, facial shapings. Underneath is a small metal plaque that says: "Tony Stark and 'Amelia Delfoid'." The other ones all have different names, and not a single one looks anything like the next.

"You've seen my Tony pics?" she beams at me. "I like how you handled him though, very cool, very nice - I loved how you wrote Pepper Potts, she's just lovely."

There's a photo of her (presumably) and Pepper shaking hands. I am completely baffled.

"Absolutely lovely, Pepper Potts, I don't know what she did to our Tony, but she did it good. I'm all kinds of flexible but_ he _is the gift that keeps on giving, well into the morning and way into the day." she sighs, stares at the roof. "And now I will never have him again."

"I wouldn't think that's such a bad thing." Widow drawls.

"I know it's a bad thing. Neither of you have - well, I assume, how rude of me! Have either of you slept with him?" She seems to direct this question solely at me. I burst into an uncontrollable peel of laughter.

"Ah, no! God no. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. He's like- no. Nu uh. Not this lady."

"But you two have such good chemistry?"

"Pepper has it better. I wouldn't know what to do with him. Obviously, I know how that works but - oh, ew, I thought about him naked - it'd be: "yeah, that was nice, bye Tone!" and exit, stage left."

"He's cut." she assures me. "Waist like you wouldn't believe, great shape, I don't even mind the circle thing of light. Had me up against the wall for the better part of forty five minutes, at least."

"Ew..." I scowl, try to bleach that idea from my mind, though it's possible I'm picturing the wrong woman.

"No." Widow says flatly, as Vittoria opens her mouth. "I have not slept with him. I would never sleep with him. I'd get him drunk and make him think he'd slept with me, but no. Not a chance in hell, would I ever let that... Stark... near me. Not alive, at least."

Ohhhkaaayyyyyy.

"Clothes," Vittoria, suddenly remembering her objective, suddenly grins and potters around, pressing what look to be a mess of buttons. "Oh my God, how do I get so sidetracked?"

"ADD." Widow suggests, and smiles at her. "Or is it something, else, today?"

The woman shoots her the most rapidly un-friendly look I've ever seen, then trades it for a smile, and looks at me.

"So you and Hawk, huh?"

"No." I put both hands up. "It was flirting. Harmless, shameful, excessive flirting."

"You seem to do that," she says cheerfully. "I loved you from the moment you picked on Tony. Loved you. The Hulk article was sweeter than candy, I love me some Captain America, Thor was just the cutest man I ever did read anything on, and I'd be damned if I didn't tell you that I have a soft spot for every single one of those Avengers because of what you did."

"Uh...Mission accomplished, then."

"Of course, I already know Hawkeye-" she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "-Intimately. We both do. Don't lie, Widow, you know him better than anyone!" and before I can follow that line of questioning further, she lifts the entire back wall, which reveals a warehouse looking space, filled to the brim wih hangers.

I stare at the clothes. Have a religious experience. Wonder why people are always trying to redress me.

"Come on, darling!" she swoops in, takes my hand, leads me through to the back, where there is a series of smoking, drinking men. Two out of ten of them are quite casually macking on, so I assume they're very friendly or in some kind of relationships.

"This is Kitty Black!" she announces.

"Lovely thighs." one of them says, and comes over to squeeze said thighs. "You run, don't you?"

"I give you permission to hit them if you think it's necessary." Widow says, stealing a drag off one of the men. he blows it through her nose and delivers a kiss on both his cheeks. "They'll walk all over you if you don't establish a pecking order."

"We aren't dogs." the one physically accosting me says, though he's now eye level with my crotch and I'm considering kicking him in the face.

"Uh huh." is all she says, but I'm guessing this is an old joke, or at least old friends, because they keep the mood light, and no one seems to care.

"SWIMSUITS!" Vittoria produces a wardrobe full. Like Tony, she's able to gauge my correct size with her eyes, muttering about my thighs, and goes on to hold a swatch of colours up to my chest, with a trio of men either agreeing or disagreeing on my colour pallet.

"Help?" I say, glancing over to Widow, but she's got a smoke in her mouth and shakes her head.

"If I had to suffer through it, you do too."

There's arguing over the colours that best match my skin colour. Someone starts tugging at my jumper, so I knock them away, jolting slightly. I have a small, recently developed complex about my body, and if reading on is in the cards, you'll find out why.

"Be nice! You know what our Widow is like, she just likes to watch people squirm. Probably because Hawkeye has eyes for you, and she wants to see how you handle the way she treats you... But listen to me, goin' on! How_ do _I get so distracted?" she sends me a quick wink. "It'll be over quicker, if you don't struggle, dear."

It wasn't.

They measured some crazy places, pushed a bunch of bikinis at me and shoved me into a small booth. I was expected to change with a hoard of fashinistas on one side of the thin curtain? Oh no. No way. Seriously. I swept the curtain back out of the way.

"Oh honey, the idea is that you have to take those off." one of the men drawls. I shoot him an unimpressed look, and he rolls his eyes. "I work with two of the most fierce women in the whole world, babe, gotta try harder than that."

"Don't tempt me, Fabio."

"Easy, now." Vittoria says, and claps her hands. "We don't need you anyway, go get lunch! Actually, I'll get lunch. I'll leave you two to your own. Lovely to meet you, darling." she swoops in, kisses my cheeks, kisses Widows, then skips out after her friends, somehow managing to look comfortable in her heels.

There's a long pause, in which I contemplate the feeling that I have eyes on me, and Widow stares at the way I'm standing.

"It's the scars, isn't it?"

It is. And the fact she knows makes grief stir in my chest.

"They're still healing." I say with a shrug. "They aren't the worst, I don't mind them, it's just the fact that no one 'sides me and my doc have seen them."

Widow quietly gets to her feet, puts her hands on the hem of her dress, and quite casually pulls it up and over her head. The scars that I see make me cringe. She turns and let's me see the significantly larger ones on her back, still healing bruises on her calves and spine.

I unbutton my jeans, kick off my boots, loose my jumper and shirt.

"That one on your stomach is fairly nasty." she says mildly.

"Car accident, I was ten. The seat belt got me." it's a dark line across my abdomen, mostly ignorable. "You've been shot before?"

"Yeah, a few times, actually. This one festered before I could get it seen to." it's a big lumpy thing on the meat of her shoulder. She shows me how it's gone straight through to the back, though the skin there is smooth and clean. What I'm looking at could be a constellation of freckles, not a bullet wound.

She lifts her hand and rather casually turns my arm up, brings it out to further scrutinize my bicep.

"Tell me you didn't go through the self-harm phase." her thumb rubs over the dark criss crosses marring the skin.

"You wanted to know what high school was like. It was hell. It only happened once or twice."

"I can see that. You don't half ass anything, do you?"

"Never." I grin, and think about something. "Ever been bitten?"

"Not in anyway that should apply to this conversation." she purrs, and lets my arm go.

"My brother decided it'd be a good idea to throw down over the front seat of the car, one day. The resulting fight is still a sore point in my family. We're the babies, so no one thought we could do much damage, just let us fight it out and be done." I pull my ear forward and display the half circle on the back of my skull, nearly entirely obstructed by hair, but still raised.

"This would've bled like a bitch."

"It did. To be fair, though, I was shooting him with my eldest brother's BB gun." I chuckle a little at the memory, look over all the ugly scars on the rest of my body, compare them to hers. She has more, but she wears them like diamonds, like badges, like honour. I can already feel the itch in my hands to try and start covering mine.

"How old where you?"

"About fourteen." I shake my head, inspect a raised welt on the juncture of her thigh and hip. "He had won, at that point, kneed me in the gut and got into the car. But I don't lose that easily. He had a few years, my logic was that I needed a weapon. I nearly shot out his eye, my mother didn't speak to me for _months_."

She takes her time to prowl around, scrutinizing my sides - the rather big bruise on my rib cage (thanks to a split second lack of concentration and a sensei who knows I can take a hit) - and gently traces the tip of her forefinger over a thin, white line on the small of my back. The action doesn't do much but make goosebumps explode everywhere. Partly because that scar is kinda sensitive, partly because I can't see her.

"Hypothetically." she says quietly. "If you could chose which brother to die, to save the rest, could you?"

* * *

We eat like queens. Discuss fights, previous lovers, men we both know. Seeing as we run in almost exclusively different circles, that last subject is limited to the Avengers and Nick.

"So. Hawkeye. I know something happened there."

"Something happens between every one of the partners you have." she says, lifting her coffee. "You bond with them or you suffer the consequences."

"I... I don't really think it's the same thing, but like with cops? Cops have partners they have to trust, right?"

"It's more than trust. And the kind of people we are- it could take years to build that, and sometimes you don't have years left. With Barton, it was a whole different ball park, for me. He saved my life."

"You're giving me a look that says we're straddling the line between Nick's rules and something that you'll kill me if I know."

"I'm not going to kill you." count 'em, that's the fourth time. "If I was going to kill you, I'd do it after this little-..." she suddenly straightens in her chair, blinks slowly. Then she relaxes, sighs, and sips her beverage.

It takes a full two minutes of - "Uh, what the hell was that all about?" "You'll get there." "No seriously, what just happened, what did I miss?" "Give it another minute." - Before I get that creepy crawly feeling on the back of my neck, and as casually as possible, pull out my new StarkTech Alpha Phone (there you go, Tone, I plugged you, stop wining now,) and flip the camera to forward, looking over my shoulder.

"You sneaky son of a bitch." I turn in my chair. "What the hell, Feathers?"

"You were getting to the good bits." he gets out of his booth and slides into ours, putting his arm over the back of my chair. I'm distracted by the pull of muscle in his arm in short sleeves but, thankfully, my much tougher scar-partner is not.

"How long have you been following?" Widow purrs. Not the good kind of purr, either. The deadly kind, that makes me want to write my last words, again.

"I was present at the loss of the clothes."

"Jesus _Christ_." I slap my hand over my head.

"Hey, we've already seen each other mostly naked. And me'n Widow- Well..." he sends her the single cheekiest look I've ever seen in my life, which she sets her cup down to receive more fully, a slender brow raised. "C'mon, Kit, I was thinkin' that she was going to inflict some kind of bodily harm."

"I'm not going to-" Four and a half, times, now.

"No, I didn't say 'kill', I said 'harm'."

"So you did it to protect her. That's cute."

"Actually, I was more for the loss of the clothes. That was the highlight of my day."

I whack him in the arm, scowl at him, my face going a suspicious shade of red.

"I thought you were going to learn from Steven? Steven would never-!"

"Steven is a red blooded man, and you are two of the hottest women to behold, sans clothes. As if he would'nt stick around to see-"

"As if he would. I have faith in him."

"But none in me?" now he looks wounded, but it's negated by the fact that his eyes are clearly replaying all the part-nakedness he's witnessed.

"None at all. What, you pop a boner and _then_ say hi?"

"He was waiting for us to keep talking about him." Widow mentions.

"I have a right to know what my girls think about me."

"No you don't."

"And neither of us are your girls."

He grins, puts his arm back up around my shoulders.

"Naw, I love it when you guys get all in tandem."

"Barton." Widow says pleasantly. "I have a .38 aimed directly at your balls."

"Can't shoot me in here, I'll make noise."

I remove his arm from my person again, fold my arms across my own chest.

"I don't think anyone would mind if we both started screaming about you being a two-timing dirt bag." I'm invisioning it, getting up and smacking him around a bit, yelling at him, calling him my baby-daddy, taking Widow by the arm and storming out. Actaully, I get stuck on the stream of thought dedicated to him actually becoming my baby-daddy.

Damnit.

"Don't be like that, Kit."

"Huh?" I was clearly still stuck on the procreation part, and apparently this shows, because his grin is wide and wicked and he doesn't seem phased that Widow has just clicked the hammer back on her gun.

"You know, your stalker is getting kind of good." he mentions, nodding up to the opposing building. "He's working with better tech from more reasonable distances. He's stopped trying to bump into you in public, at least."

"This isn't earning you brownie points." but he's effectively distracted me again, as I keep looking for my stalker in the opposing building. "What's his deal, any way? I'm not going to end up at the bottom of an empty well, am I?"

"Nah. S'far as I can tell, he's just particularly fond of you. And watching what you do, at all hours. He's not as big a threat as the usual ones, this one actually has a job he needs to go to, to afford his gadgets. It's Hammertech, any way."

I snort. Spending time in Stark Tower kind of makes everyone else's tech look like shit. Sorry, but it just _does_.

"Anyway," Feathers says, as I continue to scowl after my stalker. "I was supposed to give you this." he flicks a yellow file over to Widow. It's sealed, looks heavy, and I desperately want to know what's inside, which just means I have a fickle train of thought, because now the contents of that envelope consumes me.

"Nick - heh, _Nick_ - sent it to me, but I'm already on assignment. I had a few hours to kill." he checks his watch. "I've got a couple more. Mini golf, anyone?"

"No." I say. "I can't mini golf to save myself as it is, and knowing you two, you'll just glare the ball into the hole, and you'll somehow sneak it in there, and I'll be sitting there with my stupid face on, wondering why it was a good idea to engage in any kind of skill related activity. No."

"We could go to a shooting range. Stop you hitting the walls of your poor apartment." he coos at me. I give Widow a very gentle look.

"If you want to shoot him, I wouldn't mind."

"Hey, I need these." and he's nodding to his crotch. I refrain from looking, drinking my coffee instead. Widow's pulled the tag of the envelope open, and is studying the contents, her other hand still on her weapon, still aimed at Susan's nutsack. "You know she's going to have to pack up and leave, don't you? Which means you'll be alone, with your stalker. Unless of course you wanna come see a movie with me."

"Subtle. But no. I haven't trusted a man to take me to the movies since I was about sixteen - but you already know that, because I mentioned getting laid in the article with Tony."

He sighs, kind of dramatically. "You're on to me. But I'd prefer it if you were _actually_ on to me."

"Well that makes two of us. Only in my scenario I'm beating up up, not beating you off."

He opens his mouth to retort but Widow gets to her feet, the weapon on safety and tucked away, under her skirt. She puts the envelope under her arm and raises a brow at the both of us, who're looking innocently up at her as though we were caught doing something naughty.

"He's right. I've got to go. It was nice to meet you." We shake hands, and I reply with all due honesty, but before I can ask what's going on she got her phone to her ear and is babbling in what appears to be Russian. Awesome. She strides out of the coffee shop, shooting Barton a dry look and telling him something that he replies to - in another language I can't identify - and looks every inch a normal New Yorker woman with a mission.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Kitten." he coos, puts his arm back on my chair.

"And my stalker." I retort, and turn the mic off.


	8. Nick

_Nick_

* * *

My big shot boyfriend in the military precision company that looks after the Avengers- Nick, for those of you who missed the reference - was in my office when I got to work. It's never a good thing when your super powerful not-boyfriend boyfriend is waiting on you with pages in a manilla folder, weeks_ after _you've finished a job for him.

It's the first time I've seen him since before I started writing the Interviews. Since, you know, starting a very public not-relationship with him. How awkward.

He was sitting on my desk, just on the corner, waiting patiently for me to stop staring and close the door. I shut it behind me, and click the lock shut, peer out from behind the curtain to make sure no one's sending me any suspicious looks.

"Seems like you learn fast." he nodded to my initiative.

"Seems like."

"Have a seat." he rolled my chair to me.

"How much?" I drawled, swinging it around to sit in at my leisure.

"How much...?" he prompted.

"Trouble. Clearly, you're here, I've said something I shouldn't have said."

"If you were in trouble_, I _wouldn't come to _you_." he leaned forward and fixed the full force of his stare straight into my soul. "I, personally, looked after your articles before your editor did. You followed guidelines well, Miss Black. Or do you prefer Kitten?"

I blushed so hard my head nearly exploded. It's one thing to have an inside nicknames with a bunch of super hot super heroes it's another thing to forget the whole world has access to the same joke.

"What ever floats your boat, Nick." I mumble back, rubbing the back of my neck, accepting the file. I opened it to see a mug shot of a creepy-handsome face; the next slid out, onto my lap. It was black and white, long range surveillance. All I could make out was the horns and the long coat, the sceptre in his hand.

"Woah, Halloween sure came early for moo-cow, here."

"His name is Loki."

My eyebrows shot so high onto my skull they nearly fell off.

"Thor's brother. The God of Chaos and Mischief." He clarifies this, as if I don't already know.

I looked up from the pages. "Nick, I'm a writer. Of course I_ read_. Especially before I met up with MC Hammer and his lady Jane. But you'd know that, from the reading of the interviews."

"He was the one responsible for the Manhattan invasion, if you weren't aware."

"I'm well aware." I know I'm losing blood in my face, but I can't stop that. "I refrained from mentioning it on purpose."

"Good to see you keep up with reliable sources." he continues. "He went up to receive his punishment from his father. Then he was sent back down to amend what he could. He claims he is part of the Avengers, so he claims he has the right to... an interview, with you."

Now, I've thrown back shots with Stark, I've kept pace with Hawkeye, I've shared a bed with Hulk. I've assembled modern technology with Steve, I've made nice with the god of thunder plus his lovely Lady - and a kitten - hell, I've gone bikini shopping with the Black Widow herself.

I think it's safe to say that it takes just a bit more than average to shock me, but hearing that made something in my head flip to negative.

"No." I said, flat out, shut the file, passed it back. "Not a snowball's chance in Hell." When he didn't take it back I shoved it hard enough so that it landed on my desk and slid away.

"You would be completely safe," he started, raising his hands. "He would be contained, you'd have separate rooms, sealed off completely by a section of thick glass pannels-"

"Glass? Nick, d'you have an idea of what this guy is capable of?"

"Do you?" he raised his brows at me.

I can't explain why - all those legends, all the stories. It was all very amusing for those read about who he pranked and teased... they were gods. He pulled that shit down here and we'd be screwed, even if it was all in good fun (and mildly hilarious.)

"No. Uh uh. No. No, no, no."

"Name the price."

"There is not enough incentive in the world." I bite back, then try and handle my panic into a controllable container, somewhere in the back of my brain. "Why? Why does he want the interview?"

"He won't say."

"Then I'm not doing it."

"He would answer you if you asked him directly."

"I don't care. I won't." I folded my arms over my chest and stubbornly shake my head at him. "No. No. I'm not doing it. Stop_ looking_ at me like that."

"Why?"

"I've got my reasons." I say flatly. "Loki is typically all about mind games. That what he is, a trickster. Have you done your homework on the shit he gets up to in his spare time?"

He takes a long, serious pause. I've hit a nerve but I can't see what. Maybe I've insulted his intelligence.

"You've stared down aliens in an invasion on the city." he says, very casually. "You've killed a number of them on the fly, using what you could to keep those around you safe. You've been in car accidents, you've locked horns with one of the most elite spies this world has ever known."

"We were sparring," I correct. "I wouldn't engage him other wise - and what, I couldn't shoot him if he got handsy with me? Lost him his job? There are ways to work around that."

"I wasn't talking about Barton." he gives me a blank look.

"Well that's reassuring, thanks." I sigh shortly, rub my temples. "I don't know if it says in my file or whatever, so I'm going to be frank. I work with words, it's my first and foremost weapon. These are the things I fight with on the day to day. Yeah, I can shoot a gun and yeah, I can throw a punch but words ... Come to me more easily than breathing. It is with words that he will attack me, and there's no point in doing an interview if I deny that of him, is there?"

"I'm telling you that you will be in a safe environment and you baulk at the idea?" he raises his brows at me. "After all the fighting, the flirting, the danger you've encountered on behalf of these interviews, and you're worried about words? This isn't contractual. If you feel him under your skin you get out. We will have eyes on the both of you _at all times_."

"I've said no." I repeat, and nod to the door. "You can see yourself out."

He takes a moment to study me. I'd like to say that I was in control but I wasn't. He sets down the mic - the same mic I used for the Avengers' interviews - and I see that the blinking light calls it on.

"Were I you," he says, fixing the lapels of his jacket. "I'd keep this, for a little while. Just in case you... change your mind."


	9. Loki

__OKAY.  
There is one more chapter to conclude this story!  
xx

* * *

_Loki_

* * *

**_PUBLIC VERSION _**

* * *

So clearly, I _am_ a cat when it comes to curiosity. It burned into my brain, the fact that this god had heard of me and wanted to talk to me, wanted me to print his words and give him my thoughts. Nick had left the recording mic and the file on my desk and at first, both went straight into the bin.

My boss stormed in, gave me the speech about how I was a selfish cow and that Nick had offered him enough money to purchase a yacht and a summer home to keep that yacht, but I was mostly oblivious to it, telling him I was done with the Avengers interviews, there were no more Avengers to interview and I didn't have to do anything.

He didn't like that.

I had left the mic and the file alone for about two hours before digging it out and having a brief read, because what harm could come of that?

Well.

What I saw was confronting. The things he was accused of doing. To people I'd grown to adore - Hotguy, Captain Spandex, MCHammer, Lady Eight Legs, Tin Can Man, Mr. Huge'n'Green, the lot of them as a collective, then the people around them as well. The things he'd done, the things he said he had been planning to do...

When I read the murder of a particular individual welded the group together, I nearly cried. Nearly, because let's face it; boys like that don't deserve the energy it takes to shed the tears. I threw the file back into the bin but his gaunt, creepily smiling picture fell out and staring up at me. I kicked the bin into the corner and the pages did the most dramatic explosion, and slid out everywhere, which did nothing but tempt me to read them as I was picking them up.

The interview itself lasted three hours at most. I couldn't wait to get out of there. My brain felt like cold mush and my stomach rolled around.

Naturally, I got my drink on with most of the Avengers, the ones who had seen what had happened, which is never, ever a good thing when you've been psychologically probed by one of the most sinister minds our world has ever known. The resulting drink fest with the aforementioned and Thor is some of the most trouble I've ever been into my entire life, thanks to my lovely not-boyfriend Nick.

Safe to say, I was glad for the microphone, because I don't remember a lot.

It started out safely enough, probably because Captain America was there.

Apparently, when Tony had been goading me with the trash talk of Thor being mostly immune to our kind of alcohol, and Cap being totally unaffected, he wasn't kidding. Of course, Steve had a bottle of beer and a sip of whatever I was drinking and that was enough for him, so I couldn't exactly test the theory

So after Steven bid adieu then we may or may not have played 'I Never', which pretty much got Thor going. Doc was able to match Tony shot for shot which was... Surprising.

"I'm out." The Doc says, turning his glass upside down. "I'm not drinking any more. I'll become a giant green health and safety hazard."

"Naw." I was shamelessly cuddled up into his side, tucked under his chin, my beer in one hand, shot glass currently being filled by Feathers, who flanks my right. I am a little bit beyond drunk, a little bit beyond wobbly and a little bit beyond emotional, thanks to Loki.

"Come on, Kitten." Feathers reaches over and rubs my leg. He's gone loose in the shoulders, his hand stays on my thigh, fingers curled into my leg half tightly. "Don't go to sleep. There's more shots to be done."

"AY." Thor bellows, and lifts his mug at us. The mug is Thor's version of a shot glass. He's on some kind of straight beverage dispenser and I do not ever want to know what kind of tabs Tony runs up in alcohol. "ANOTHER ROUND, MY BROTHERS, MY LADY!"

"We need an Asgaurdian drinking game." Tony says, matter-of-factly. "Come on, _L'Oréal_. You're worth it."

Barton loses it, snickering until his head drops down on the table and he starts lamenting the hangover he's going to have tomorrow. I rub his shoulder because I'm drunk and his shoulders are very nice, and some where in my mind I register the rubbing of his shoulder as sympathy.

So, from there, we progress. We play poker, which lasts all of two rounds before Doc realizes the currency is shots and the winner is the one who slams them back. I win the second round, by which time Thor alone has put forward three mugs.

I am only allowed to have two.

"You will get alcohol poisoning and die." He says firmly, sliding the empty mug back to Thor. "Don't make me put a green foot down, here. Pick another game."

Naturally, it's strip poker. Which is wonderful, by the way, because Thor doesn't know how to play and looses frequently, so he's man enough to sit on the opposite end of the table completely butt naked, his hammer situated on his lap.

I cannot, stop, laughing.

Tony moves over to our side of the table, the side with less nakedness. Barton has a naturally champion poker face but I have a feeling he throws a few hands, Doc pulls out when his shirt comes off and gets stuck on the cuffs, and Tony, like Thor, is completely fine to lose as often as his hand permits, so he's bare chested and missing a shoe.

I just pull my shirt over my head when Thor realizes I'm game to get just as nakey as he is. _Then _he pussies out, because Jane and honour!

Barton is not impressed with him, and tries to progress with only us playing, but Tony is commandeered to the Asgaurdian's side, and Bruce suggests Twister, which sounds fun and potentially sexy. We have a holographic board and an automatic spinner in JARVIS - because nothing Tony Stark does is regular. We're all minus various items of clothing, and I may or may not point out that this is probably the worst game to play with a single female and four gentlemen...

Then we forget the game and scramble for clothes when Steve is announced as coming back to see us, he's left his mobile phone behind. It's a mad rush, I stub my toe twice, and Tony is trying to coordinate one of his t-shirts over Thor's skull. I end up in Doc's shirt because my fingers cannot handle buttons, can't find my own, and his slides over my head as the elevator pings open.

"Guys. Kitten." he beams, and I swoon, loudly, for a full five minutes.

He stays for a while, is very aware we're off our heads, but at the time I was so sure that we had pulled off being sober.

We (being Tony, Barton and I, the most inebriated) now have matching home made tattoos. Of course, Tony never half asses anything so he _made a freaking legit tattoo gun in about three minutes flat_ and _imported some bright ass Asian ink _in such a time frame that we weren't able to sober up before it got to his place.

Let me start off by saying that tattooing Feather's ass was the best part of my life thus far, and it is one of the only things I remember, apart from trying, and failing, to knock Thor on his rear.

At least my tattoo is on the back of my left thigh and not my ass, somewhere near my butt crease. Feathers had to do that one with only the Good Doctor for help, because Tony and Thor were only allowed to look and not touch, which I made them promise. Thor tried to tattoo himself but the ink just weeped out of his skin, and Doc didn't even try.

The tattoo is... cheesy. There really is no other way to put it. Barton and Tony got 'A's on their asses, for their Avenger status. I didn't, because I'm not an Avenger. I got a retarded green cat with a hammer, an arc reactor, a bow awkwardly situated over it's body.

Barton thought it would be a good idea to brand me with his name but I threatened him, and Thor backed me up, and there's nothing quite as cute as a protective Thor.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Avengers...And Kitten!"

"Hi Kitten. Remember this little guy?"

A soft weight drops onto my shoulder, and I make a noise, which is replied in a cute 'mew'.

"Heeyyyyy...Pep...Jane..."

I woke up in a tangle of limbs on the couch bed. Pepper had opened the blinds, because her beu was also on the couch, in a puddle of his own drool. He was on the lower "L" shape, where as every one else was piled on the fold out bed, and I thanked God for every dollar that had gone into the soft cushions.

Jane was being sweetly kissed in the kitchen, rumbled to in the way that only Thor could, and I smelt coffee. Mew was easily picked up on Pepper's way past.

"Tony." I croaked. "Cure me."

He just rolled over.

I found my nose was aimed at the back of Doc's head - again - my hand was tucked over Hawkeye's on my stomach, our fingers loosely linked. Neither one of these manly men stirred - I lifted my head to see that Pepper was tending to Tony, he was mumbling back to her, fingers mindelessly petting the big cat, who was loving his attention.

I made a sound like a dying animal and snuggled back into Hawkeye, who tightened his arm around me. My leg curled around Doc's and I pulled him back, who shifted with a small snore.

"'M gettin' too old for this party bullshit." Barton grunted.

"Whatever, you're like, thirty."

"I'm flattered, and ain't gonna contradict ya."

"Why does my leg hurt?" I retorted.

"If your leg hurts more than your head, something has gone terribly wrong."

"No seriously, my leg burns."

"So does my ass."

"Haha, nice ass, it's so hot it burns."

"What?" he sounds amused. Amused and hungover. No one is going any where today.

"It's a nice ass. I'd pat it if I could be bothered moving."

"Heh."

"But seriously. The back of my leg. Can you just tell me it's not a gaping wound?"

He shifts slightly, lifts blanket and slides the hem of the shirt up to my waist, makes a low noise, and settles back exactly where he was, only he leaves my shirt off, so I mumble about him being a dirty perve.

"The good news is, it's not a gaping wound."

"That's all the concerns me."

"Good."

There's a moment when I'm all cuddled up to Doc and have Hotguy spooning me, and I'm wondering why my leg hurts so much, before I realise that I'm wearing a man's shirt, my underwear and one sock. Hawkeye is in a similar state. Doc is butt naked.

"Why are you naked?"

"He Hulked out. You don't remember?" Pepper raised her eyebrows. "What, you thought you could unfold the couch and organize cushions and blankets by yourself? Thor came and got us after he and Hulk duked it out. You had a nightmare about Loki, apparently, and were so upset it triggered him." the doctor, completely out of it, shifts under my arm.

"Oh." I swallow. "Sorry."

"Not your fault he emotionally traumatized you." Jane said coming over to lay a gentle hand on my head. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible. Sweaty." I keen into her hand because the touch is nice.

"I meant about Loki." she says softly, and suddenly, her too-bright boyfriend is blinding me, all bright eyes and shiny hair, stupid blonde.

"Eh. I've seen better days." Is my casual reply. "Not much gets to me. He did, a little, bit hey, whatever. I'll move on."

"That's my girl." Barton murmurs into the back of my neck.

"I like your tattoos, by the way." Pepper says, probably trying to eliviate the mood.

"I only have one, but thanks."

"Nope." Hawkeye's hand squeezes mine, and I can feel him laughing. "It's not a gaping wound."

"Jesus." is all I say, and hide my face in Doc's hair. "I need to stop drinking."

* * *

_**THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED BY ORDER OF SHIELD**_

* * *

When I got home from being verbally abused by my boss at work, there was a bright yellow sticky note on my computer.

_'You're more safe there, than you are in here - Hawkeye.'_

After reading through what Loki had done to him, especially, I knew it was Nick, and not my Hotguy talking. Mind, I knew it was probably Hawkeye doing what the boss man said to do, but it wasn't him, all the same.

"Clint, if you're hiding in my bathroom... Rifling through my underwear... If you've found my vibrator... So help me..." I went and checked all rooms with a gun in my hand, safety off. If he got shot, it was his own damn fault, I'd been berated by an asshole and propositioned by a tough guy in a trench coat. I screwed up his note and tossed it away - then picked it back up, smoothed it out, sighed over it.

I read the god's psych evaluation, notes on things I shouldn't have been allowed to read. It was enough to keep me well away from him on pure principle alone, the things that made sense to him were the same kinds of things that would make sense to say, Ted Bundy, or Jeffrey Dahmer. The things that lead up to his snap made my blood boil for him, because on some really trippy level, I could relate to most of them. The elder brother he blamed his ruthlessness on made me sick, because I could say exactly the same thing about mine.

I was frightened. I won't lie. The empathy that pulsed so loudly in my ears made me feel nauseous. So I put the file down, got a lil' bit drunk, and went to bed, trying in earnest to forget the whole thing.

But the curiosity continued to burn.

It was what drove me to Stark Towers.

I didn't know where else to go, how to get in touch with any body from that world. I found Pepper who, like the superhero she is in her own right, got me in touch with Nick, who flew down, calmly buckled me into a helicopter, and flew me out to a location I am sworn under oath and pain of death not to repeat.

"You'll be completely safe." he said for the third time, as he lead me through more halls than I could count. I had a rucksack with my iPod, StarkTech Beta Phone (seriously, Tony, stop sending me toys, I'd only just gotten the hang of the last one) and a book in it, but that was it. I wouldn't be showering, I'd stay in my baggy, comfortable clothes all the time I was there.

"He knows you're wired, and that you both have video cameras on you at all times. We have Iron Man and several of the Avengers on standby, they'll be watching the live feed. Just keep in mind that he is a convicted, dangerous criminal, and he might try and mess with your head."

"He will." I was absolutely sure he would. "If he - Nick, I have to warn you - if he talks smack, I'll smack back. I get mean when I'm nervous."

He gave me a long, searching look.

"We'll keep eyes on you." he promised, and opened the door. "Behave." he called into the room.

"I will." the voice was a low drawl. "Please, Miss Black, do come in. Don't be shy, it doesn't quite become you."

"Being attractive to you is probably the last thing I wanna do." I shoot off, then close my eyes and sigh.

_Nice, Black. Hostility is always the answer!_

"Well, well. There's that tongue I admire so." he muses. He has a pleasant somewhat familiar accent that makes all his words drawl and roll. I take my few steps up to his platform, I see he's in a thick glass box, with all the necessities for human living quarters.

My bed is next to his - uncomfortably close - even if there's a wall between us, it's too damn close. I wipe sweaty palms on the front of my shirt, ball them into fists and let them swing by my sides.

"Why did you want your interview?" I ask, because it's been eating me alive, inside out, going through all my organs and compelling me to know the answer.

"You painted them all so brightly." he replies, and takes a seat on his bed, motioning for me to do the same on mine. "I wanted to see what you would say of me."

"I could do that and leave."

"No." he says. "You won't do that. You'd consider it a premature failure."

_He's already got me pinned. This isn't going to end well._

"Did your boss change his tune when you told him you would comply with speaking to me?"

"He doesn't know." I swallow, because my mouth is kind of dry and I need my tongue to be ready to rapid fire some responses. "I don't know if I'm going to publish this. Not legally, any way, or if Nick has anything to say about it. The rest of SHIELD will wanna know more about you, is my guess." I take a few steps closer and perch on the very end of my bed

He gives me a slow smile.

"So you aren't so dull a creature as to think dear Nick would let you expose these words unto the public world. That's a good sign." he muses. "Did they tell you why they allowed this meeting to occur?"

I shake my head.

"They want to know more. My motives, perhaps. My relationship with Thor. The powers I can call from beyond the end of your known universe, the ones that threaten your safety and very existence. How I did, what I did, to your _friend_ Hawkeye."

I can feel my face twitching like I want to sneer at him, but there's already enough of that going on, and there's only the two of us in here. I curl my hands into tighter fists and squeeze them tightly, in the event they start to tremble or fret.

"I liked the way you wrote of them. _My fellow Avengers_." he mused, crossing his legs at the ankle. "It's a unique style. I'm quite used to Asgaurdian works, which have always been so dry, you'll have to forgive my interest."

I shrug one shoulder.

His smile is every inch devious - and kind of attractive, if I'm going to continue my honesty - but no longer menacing, which I realize is a trick because it's too nice, too suddenly, just to take the edge off my apprehension, to get me to let my guard down.

"So they sent me to pry you open." I say in what I want to be a mild voice, but comes out some what muttered.

"I would not speak to them." he says simply. "I withheld the information they sought. And they think that this may work as a therapy - as you did for our dear Captain and - what did you call him? Tin Can Man?... You asking me questions the way you do is supposed to,_ loosen me up_. Get me to discuss my feelings."

"And you think that's a load of shit, right?"

"I do." he smooths his hands over his legs.

"But you're going to do it anyway?"

"I have a right. I'm an Avenger."

I study his eyes.

I don't care if it gets him off to read - for all he's terrifying and oozes condescension like the bitter, high and mighty not-quite-god he is - his iris' are a magnificent shade of pale green, hypnotic in all their brilliance. I can see there's a madness, but it's mostly just intelligence, cunning. His eyes are the very idea of windows to the soul. I can see in him, a mess. It's a storm he's got control of, but it's still raging, still at war behind his eyes.

I find myself leaning further forward on the bed, but shake it off and lean back onto my fist, tapping my fingers against my knee. It's a nervous tick, but I let myself have it so I don't screw up in any other respect. I _need _it.

"What is it you want to say? I mean, you must have something to say, you wouldn't have wanted me otherwise."

"I wanted your words. They don't exactly let me get out much - I was subjected to reading their petty magazines. I do not particularly care of the scandals of your famous, but when your words were brought to me, written of those I know somewhat extensively... the insight amused me."

"So, you were bored."

"In essence."

"Good to know."

Now I'm a little less nervous, maybe because I'm letting my nails drum roll against my jeans, and that's _familiar_, I look around the room he's living in. I force my hands to straighten, and fold them over my knees, rocking slightly.

"Do you live in that box consistently?"

"Only when they don't need me."

It's kind of pitiful. Don't get me wrong, he's got passive aggressive issues coming out his wahzoo (yeah, figure that one out, Loki!) and I try to be both mindful and neglectful of the copious amounts of power, and I wouldn't of done the interview without him being in a box for it, but to spend the majority of your life in a glass cage isn't exactly humane.

Then again, killing nearly a hundred people in two days isn't humane, either. So it figures that I can't really make my mind up as to if he deserves it or not. This kind of conflict annoys me, because I'm generally a cut and dry, black and white, right and wrong kind of girl.

There's what appears to be a bathroom area behind a foggy green wall. His bed isn't the largest, but it isn't a single; he has a stack of magazines that tower up to his hip in height and another one, just beginning on the floor beside it.

I check back on him, who's watching me study quietly.

I bite my proverbial bullet.

"So, you hate your brother, huh." I know this because it was in the file Nick gave me, and I seared the words into the back of my eyelids.

Cudos, Nick. Sorry, Loki.

For the next hour I prod and coax but he gives me absolute silence. At one point I get cocky and start to tease him about him giving me the silent treatment like a scorned lover, but the look on his alone face grinds out the taunt as it comes out of my mouth.

How can I best describe him? His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut yourself on, for starters, part of the most prominent feature about him is the lines of his face. It's a porcelain doll kind of beauty, he kind of looks like you could snap him over your knee or with a enthusiastic hug - which brings me to the idea of Thor hugging him and snapping him, which is_ very _entertaining. The ends of his hair are cut short, but are starting to curl slightly. He rocks a high widow's peak like a crown.

I pull out a book, and there's a few slices of page turning before I lift my head to him.

"I had older brothers."

Now, this is where the game begins, and I'll be the first one to tell you I made the first move. I knew it was a bad idea but silence unnerves me, and I am typically not the kid of person who sits and allows herself to be unnerved.

Telling people things close to my heart isn't exactly a trait of mine - Tony, maybe, got a glimpse, after lots and lots of inhibition altering chemicals pumping in my blood stream. I'm doing it because I'm not keen on silence, of course, but we need to keep this conversation well and truly going, otherwise I'm pulling out and he would be right... It'd feel like a loss.

I know how information like what I'm about to give him works - he'll take it, and if I back him into a corner, he'll drag it out and stab me in the heart with it. It's a very dangerous game, giving him this ammo, but I think I know how to play.

"Oh." he says lightly. "Do tell me of your siblings, little Kitten?"

"Well, there were four of them."

It occurs to me we're the same kind of person, which is uncomfortable to admit, so let me explain.

It's in the way we use words. Wield them, the way we do. Like weapons, I once said I wield my words like swords, and so does he. The only reason I impart with him these personal thruthes is because I have my own shield, his confirmed weaknesses piled up to protect myself with, all thanks to Nick's little file. Nick has given me the written equivalent of Captain America's shield.

And that's the only reason I continue.

"You thought_ one _was bad. I had four. When I was little, there was nothing I could do that hadn't been done before. Every persona was taken. I was nothing."

He's just watching me now, without the glare. He seems to have calmed down, I think - maybe it's the inches of glass warping my view but - I think I see a connection there, and understanding.

I do know exactly what it's like to be outdone a billion times by people you're supposed to love. I do know exactly what it's like to hate someone for nothing but being good at things. That petty wind up in mind when they achieve praise. When you fail in their shadow.

It's not pleasant.

"You, at least, got to be of the male persuasion. When I started- you know, growing-" I motioned to my chest with grabby hands, which makes him smirk. "-At first, they wouldn't accept the fact that a girl still wanted to do the boy's things she'd been brought up on. How does that even make sense? They threw me in mud everyday until I fractured my eldest brother's forearm in a fight. How can you be brought up one way and be so expected to change for... Something you can't control?"

"I see the parallels you are trying to draw. It's a clever touch."

"Thank you."

"I'm hoping you're not trying too hard to be smooth in concerns to trying to coax me from my shell. It's not working."

"I'm just drawing lines, Loki. Can I call you Loki?"

"If you really must." he sighs, crosses his legs at the ankle, looks every inch a neat and proper prince.

"Well, you're calling me Kitten."

"Everyone else did."

"Everyone else meant it in good faith." I say, perhaps with a little sharpness. "You, on the other hand, are just being poisonous."

He just stares back at me.

"Does it bother you?"

"Not at all."

"I will be able to tell if you lie to me, you know."

"I don't make a habit of doing it." I shrug it off. "So the threat is moot."

"Tell me about your four older brothers, Kitten." he says in a low drawl. "Tell me about all the times you fell short to them."

So I do.

Setting fires?

Earning good grades?

Artwork, music?

Winning sporting awards?

Gardening with my mother?

Gambling with my father?

Beating people up?

Being beaten up?

Being gay?

"I couldn't do anything without it being done before me. Don't even get me started on seeing boys. I wasn't allowed in my own house when they had friends over. My own house... That was the worst. Being kicked out. Even if I was in my room, nose in a book."

There it was again, the connection, the flash of clear understanding in the storm of hate. I didn't need his sarcasm to feel the lines being drawn by him. He really was making connections, and if he denies it, well.

He's not the god of lies for nothing, is he?

"Then I wasn't allowed to go to any dances. I wasn't allowed to kiss anyone. Everything was a threat - and from being nothing, I was suddenly everything, too fragile and too girly in the place I'd never been before. I still have whiplash from that."

I take a breath in. This is harder than I wanted it to be. He's just staring at me, waiting for more of my life on a platter.

"Then it stopped. Because I moved away. I made them chase me. If they wanted something, they had to come and get it. I made myself different because I was never there - my brothers all live within a ten minute drive of where we grew up - they don't know who I am so they can't tell me I'm just the same. They don't know what I've done. They barely know if I'm alive, and sometimes, that suits everyone just fine."

"No it doesn't. I see in you the hurt." his eyes briefly narrow. "I did warn you. You can't lie to the god of lying."

"Mischief." I correct him. "And I'm not lying, even if it does burn to admit that my family would rather ignore my existence than accept me as one of theirs."

I see his Adam's apple bob, but otherwise, he's just sitting there, hands folded, legs crossed.

"Psh." I wave my hand at him. "What do you care? You were a prince. You were treated like literal royalty. Some of us had to deal with four times the siblings and the poverty that came with it."

"I didn't suffer through poverty, no. But I suffered through aeons worth of childhood years, with my brother being my first, and worst, tormentor."

"What did he do to claim that title?"

"He abused me." he says it like it's obvious. "He'd take away my things and break them. He would claim the injuries he afflicted upon me were in his defence, not my own offence. He'd force me to pull tricks to protect myself, which made the rest of our friends hate me."

"Why? Why do you think he did those things?"

"Because I was weaker than him." he shifts. "I was thinner. Smaller. Shorter. _Different. _I used magic in the space of brute force."

"But you still did it."

"Of course I did. You don't think I wanted to be as my brother was? Buff?" he's leering at me now, it's kind of frightening. "Tough? Rough? You think I wanted that, do you? No. My prowess lay not in my anatomy, but my psyche."

"So why is it hard to deal with?" I cock my head. "You're not dealing with it, so don't tell me otherwise. If it's been this way for so long then, why are you surprised? You are the smart one. You are the sharp tongue. You are the prankster and the magician. Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Because I deserved more." he says darkly.

"Ah." I shake my head. "That's not true."

"And you would know this how?" he bites back. I shut my mouth, my nails going back to drumming out a nervous beat. "You said, once, that Loki always had his own against Thor. "

"You did. If half the stories I've read about you are true-"

"What stories?"

I wish I had've kept my mouth shut for once.

"You know Nick would probably kill me for inflating your ego."

"As opposed to doing exactly the same for every other Avenger?"

"Yes." we have a small staredown.

I consider the ramifications of my actions, then damn the consequences mostly because I don't have to deal with him if I don't want to. I produce a book on Nordic myths in such a way so that he can see.

"These were the people who hailed you as gods. Vikings. Their stories have lasted a thousand years. Yours and Thor's, in particular. The way you pranked him, and every one, really." I open to a dog-eared page, the story of how Loki tricked Thor into dressing up as a woman to retrieve Mjolnir, and smile in spite of myself.

"This one," I say, pressing it against the glass. "Is my favourite."

For those of you unaware, Loki tricked the creatures who forged the hammer into stealing it and giving it to the giants. Loki then convinced them that Frigga, the most beautiful of all the goddesses, would marry their king to retrieve it - Thor had to dress up as a woman, cloaked by Loki's powers, to pretend to be her. They both went down, ate, drank, were generally merry at the feast, and when it came time for the wedding gift to the bride to be given, Thor called forth his hammer and beat everyone up.

Frigga got word of being married to a giant and being called an ugly looking man, and of course, Loki's plan was discovered when she went after Thor.

I watch the brother read through what words of the story I'm allowing him to see and watch his eyes glitter, a smile winding up on his face. When it reaches it's peak, his eyes flick up to me, and he motions with his hand.

"Please. Turn the page."

I do.

He reads again, and when it comes to a small creative licence - when Loki calls Thor 'Thora', is my guess; he laughs outright.

The laughter is good on him, more natural. He looks younger, more... He's just more. Which is something I can't figure out if he is or not; there's the power, the terrifying, and then there's the charming accent, the smile. Those pretty, liar's eyes. The way he watches my mouth, not my chest.

Given, I've opted for a high collared baggy jumped I've owned for several years, but still. My chest is not something easily smuggled away, and there's a decent curve going on there that he's politely ignoring. Or maybe just politely looking at.

Whatever.

I retract the book when his eyes lift to me, and I take the book back, fold a loving hand over it. The cover is cracked, the spine has been bent so many times that it's title fell off about five years ago. I've had this book for a very long time, and it would take an idiot to let this fact slide.

So there's a silence when I realize he knows. And because there's a silence, my instant reaction is to fill it.

"I have, maybe one question for you." I say quietly.

"Ask."

"The... The flower. The pollen, that Bruce creates."

"It's primitive garden work." he says flatly, looking unimpressed.

"Regardless." I continue, and take a deep breath. "What do different colours mean, exactly?"

"I could not tell you without seeing them myself. It is a matter of magic, not colour. The colour is how small minds perceive magic, which would include dear Thor. I can, however impart the knowledge of why it is that he will not tell anyone his own colour. I know it to be blue. It only means that his lady bares the same colour." with a heavy sigh, and a dramatic eye roll, he recrosses his legs. "That means they love each other, in simple terms."

I try to keep that warm and fuzzy feeling from showing on my face, and I think it works.

"Speaking of love, I'd like to broach the matter of you and every other Avenger." he tilts his head to one side, ceases blinking. "You are a flirt, madame."

"And how does that branch from love?"

"Flirting is the foundation of affections between partners."

"I'm friendly - and I did not flirt with them all. Well, not seriously."

"Come now." he drawls. "You had eyes on every man you spoke to, even the Romanova, at one stage. Be honest with me, you've done so well all this time to maintain your honesty. The only reason you did not openly chase the tails of the men was because they had ladies already. And the dear Captain... was because some kind of motherly instinct in you negated the sexuality that drives your behaviour."

"I'm typically not about motherly instinct. Steven is not my type."

"You said, and I quote: "Steven is everyone's type"."

"I lied."

He leers. "And Thor? You had a moment, did you not, where you forgot his lady and considered him as a prime example of the male specimen?"

"Hard to avoid that, actually. He's bulgy in places I didn't know men could bulge. I have a vagina, some time she gears up and talks over my upstairs brain. You can't tell me little Loki doesn't occasionally drive."

"I wouldn't call him little." he drawls. "And even the monster. Your precious Doctor. The man you've become the best of friends with."

"You know, Loki, a boy and a girl can be friends without having feelings for each other." I say it as though I'm speaking to a child. There's been a lot of questions about Bruce, and frankly, I'm over it. He purses his lips, looking as though he doesn't believe me, just like every other person I've tried to explain this situation to.

"Whatever you say, Kitty Black."

"Just because he has a dick doesn't mean I'm going to put it in me." Is my simplified sharply delivered retort. "I'm a flirt, but I don't do it with intentions of following through, it's just how I am, how I diffuse tension."

"You're not flirting with me."

"You're malicious."

"I have been nothing but polite."

"And venomous."

"Would you rather I played you for a fool?"

I give him a hard look.

"Explain Tony." I suggest, waving my hand at him.

"Aside from his woman, Stark is too old for you."

"Bullshit." I scoff. "Tony is older, but it doesn't mean he isn't fit and a good lookin'. Not to mention a logical part of me insists he must be good in bed, if the rumours about him are true. He's been with like, four hundred women or something, it can't just be for the money..." I realise too soon that there will be a very smug Stark somewhere. "I'd hit it, is what I'm going to go with."

He looks a little confused.

"Hit it, Loki. I'd-" and then I pretty much go ahead and explain what that means. But no, I will not use the exact words, because unless you were watching, you don't need to know. It's a strictly need-to-know thing. "-You with me now?"

He just laughs at what I've said, shaking his head.

"'_Hit it'_." he muses. "I like that."

"You would." I'm surprised to hear I seem to be teasing him. I remember a distinct amount of fear and apprehension. "But aside from common Midgaurdian phrases what were you getting at, exactly?"

"Hawkeye." he says, and that twisted smile winds on his face.

I prepare for the worst. I have no idea what he will get out of this, but I'm slightly keen to see.

"You'd hit him."

I snort.

"I did hit him. In the chest. With my boots."

"But you'd have him, in your bed?"

"I don't really know what that has to do with anything."

He gets up, crosses the brief distance between the end of his bed and the window, and puts his hands up on the glass. Now he's looking down on me, I see a darkness, an intent. I steel my heart up to try and deflect most of the oncoming.

"You know what I did to him. I walked right into his mind."

This is worse than what I thought would happen.

"I saw what he was, at his most true self. I know what he is, when you strip back the skin, so lined with scars and mostly faded bruises, I know what lies beneath the muscle mass. I could see everything that was under the veins that animate him, past the bones, into his very marrow, inside of his soul. I know _what he is_."

He leans forward, breath fogging the glass slightly.

"Would you like to know what I saw?"

"If you'd like to impart that wisdom, Loki, go right ahead." I prop my chin on my hand, and wait patiently.

He pauses. That wasn't the climax he was after, that I know for a fact, because he has lost his dramatic momentum, and doesn't do anything but stare down at me for a long while.

"Well?" I cock both brows. "I'm anxiously waiting, here."

His eyes go over my legs. My stomach, breasts, hidden mostly behind the jumper, but suddenly I feel very naked. I cross both arms over my body but keep my raised brows at him, trying to keep that steel wall around my heart and not lend it to the part of my brain that is telling me to be concerned for my lady parts.

Lady parts will heal - it's not like they haven't been ogled before, it's just not like this. Like he wants to eat me...and not in the good way.

"You are not a stupid woman. You are, human, but you are not the lowest of the low. Why would you chose him, above all else?"

"I don't know why you're concerned about my love life, dear." I say, and clench my jaw at his snickering.

"He's _nothing_." he says, with due malice. "There's no heart in him, he's wasted all away. He lost his heart to stone years ago. And you chose him, instead of the spritely Captain, instead of the rather affectionate Banner. You chose him to expend much more attention on, and he was the worst one to chose. One has to wonder why."

"Because I want to lick his face." I reply sweetly. "I'm fickle and he's got great hands. Sue me. And you're not going to start giving me relationship advise, Loki, I ruin enough of my own all by myself, thank you very much." I lean back on the bed, actively disengage from the conversation.

"Tell me more about Asgaurd." I prompt.

"What is there to tell?" he says quietly, and retakes his seat.

"I don't know. I think we'd find some kind of differences to discuss." I recline a little more, an absolute show of relative calm. "Do you keep pets?"

"Yes." And he pronounces something that I can't spell or sound out. "They are little fluffy creatures. Thor killed mine with neglect." and his entire face goes dark.

"How long do they live for?" I ask, but he doesn't seem to be listening. "Loki?"

"I have something that would be a difference between our races. A difference that would make an interesting point for those who watch us to learn. Did you know that I can walk through your mind?" he asks casually. "I can find your inner most self and read you at your core. Fix paranoias, pull forth forgotten memories, explain to you the origin of your dreams."

I frown slightly.

"I don't understand."

"Your aura. Your psyche. Whatever you want to call it. I can read you, if you give me permission."

"What kind of magic is that?"

He shrugs.

"You wouldn't understand, even if I did explain."

And then I do the single most stupid thing I've ever done in my life. Stupider than giving up my v-card to a boy when I was fourteen, stupider than not telling anyone I was pregnant at nineteen, and suffering through the resulting miscarriage in silence. Even stupider than my tattoo.

To the God of Mischief, I say_ 'yes'_.

His eyes close briefly, and his brow draws together. He inhales, exhales, then opens his glass-like eyes, and I'm quite suddenly no longer in Kansas any more. I'm in my childhood home. I'm not a woman, I'm a little girl, with dirt on her knees and scabs on her elbows, her hair unevenly cut and a streak of mud across her nose.

It's the most bizarre thing. I am her, I see through her eyes, but I'm watching her from the corner of the room, too.

"You were a cute girl." he says, taking a seat beside me on the bed. He looks around at the plain walls and many books in the corner, stacked into piles, in order of favourite to least. My Nordic mythology is open on my bedside table.

Nothing in the room could tell you it belongs to a girl.

"Thanks." I, the younger, say, rather cheerfully, and swing my legs. "So, what'm I?"

"This is how you identify." he explains. "As a messy child."

"I'm not messy." I defend, looking up to him with wide eyes. I can't remember the last time I had a decent look at the colour of my eyes. They're such a boring brown, these days, but in this little girl, they're bright, set by thick curled lashes.

"You're covered in dirt." he points out.

"S'not my fault." I scowl, and it's a pretty cute scowl, if I wasn't feeling this animosity stirring in my chest the way it was. "I told you, I have brothers."

"You identify as being the little girl they pushed around." he nods. "The little girl who couldn't defend herself long enough to stay out of the mud." then he looks at my big-girl self, standing in the corner, in something like shock.

"I do not." I say in my big scary adult voice.

"Is this not proof?" he motions to the girl, who is blinking at me. "This is not something I can conjure. We are in your mind, after all."

That makes me panic. The little girl stares at him, tears lining her lashes, and the room starts to shake.

Inception, anyone?

"You didn't tell me we'd go into my head." I say in a low, dangerous voice. "You said you could see."

"As I am seeing." he says, rather pleasantly Quite casually, he smooths his hand over the little girl's scruffy hair, turning a kind smile down at her. It makes the room cease trembling. "Calm down, Kitten. I would not hurt you."

"But you're in my head." she says shakily, and I concur.

"Get out." I say flatly, and storm over to knock his hand away from my little girl self, because I can feel his actions starting to calm me. Calm is not what I want to be - I want to be alone. He catches her face in his hands and presses a very gentle kiss to her forehead, pulling her head to his chest. He wraps arms around her and I'm left standing absolutely still as he murmurs the sweetest things into her brow. Things I can hear echoing in my mind but not as they fall from his lips.

"Stop it." I heave. I can feel him in my brain, like sandpaper. It's awful. It's a wet, clogged feeling. "Stop it." I say, more weakly, my breath half stuttering in my throat.

"You're just a little girl. And you're scared, aren't you, dear one?" he presses a kiss to her brow, hiding her eyes with his hand.

"I mean it." I bite out, growling.

"You needn't be scared." he's staring at me, but straight through me, he probably has every idea what this not-blinking thing is doing to my nerves. "I would not hurt you. Hush these tears." his thumbs wipe the wetness on her face away. She clings to him, desperate for the attention.

"Speak to me, tell me everything about you, and I will make it all better."

The walls are bending inward, outward, like the room is breathing. Then the door starts to edge open, and I realise it's because I'm on the very edge of giving in, literally opening the door for him. I watch the way he's so careful with her, this little girl. It almost consumes me, this kindness, this warmth, having someone made of total control hold me, just sit there and coo to me. We collectively breathe in his scent, the both of us do like it's the only kind of air we can inhale to survive.

The little girl folds her fists into his jacket and presses her head to his collar bone, those bright eyes focused on me. I shake my head at her, raise my hands.

"Think about this."

"I am."

"He's the God of Mischief. In our head. This _cannot possibly end well_."

"He shows me attention." she snaps back. "He understands how lonely I am."

"Excuse me?" I shake my head at her. "You are me. And I'm not lonely."

"No, I am not you. I'm jus' a kid."

"Well listen, kid, because I know what it's like to be in that place, that negative, lonely place, and let me tell you something - it gets better. Not with him. By ourselves. We pull through. We do it."

"No." she says, shrinking back into the circle of his arms. "No, no, no. I don't believe you."

"How can you not?! I'm literally you- you are me! How can you not believe what I say?" but just judging by the way Loki is soothing her, it's probably because here I am, yelling, and there he is, comforting. "You sonofa_bitch_. Let her go."

"Don't!" she wraps arms and legs around him. "Don't let me go, Low-ki!"

"It's alright, little one." he smooths a hand over her head, all the way over his neck and her shoulders. I can feel that touch all the way in my feet - my whole body goes lax. But then the room shakes like a dog trying to rid itself of water, and I stumble, gear up. Clearly, talking to him will achieve nothing.

"Listen." I urge her. "We move out. Go live in a big city. We meet up with superheros and we know how to shoot guns and we can cut our hair anyway we damn well please." my voice is starting to shake. I'm getting pretty emotional, not gonna lie.

"No. No, no, no." she says, hides behind his forearm, dragging it over her face.

"Jesus,_ Christ_." I swipe at my eyes. "We do it by ourselves! We do it, kid, we work our asses off through school to make the money and get the grades, we ignore every single person who tells us we can't, we do it against all the odds, kid, we do it, we stand up and push through and don't let this _asshole_ tell you you're alone! You aren't. You're not alone."

"Low-ki?" she says, and looks up at him so sadly, I can feel my chin wobble and the tears start to fall. Was I really like that?

"Yes, darling?"

"I'll tell you everythin'." she promises him, ignoring me as I try to engage in conversation. "Don't leave me alone. It's so dark, all she thinks about is darkness, and I'm- I'm scared. Please. Please don't leave me."

"Please." is all I say, because it's all I_ can _say. I can see him too, every time I blink I can see his face in my mind's eye, tugging at my sub concious. There's a rapid fire knock on the door, but I can't turn to see who it is, and he doesn't react like he hears it.

"Don't be scared. Just open the door." he looks at the older me now, stares right into my brain. "Open the door, Kitten."

_Kitten._

The word echoes throughout the room. The door pushes open, but it swings shut with a loud snap. I turn and see that I'm looking at a mirror, that the reflection of Loki's face is a dark smudge. The girl hugging him so tightly isn't there - I turn and see that she has, indeed, disappeared.

He sneers.

"Clever you." he says, and gets up, towering at his full height. "Identify with the name. It's what brought you back."

_Names have power._

"So they do." now he advances, and naturally, I revolt, but the mirror slides in between us and he's cut off from his predatory stroll, staring at the dark smudge that is himself. He leans aside it, and I'm breathing hard, because there's this fear in me and I can't make it stop.

I choke as I come out of that world, mostly in the room, with him in his glass box and staring at me intensely.

"I wouldn't cause any harm." he tells me, and I'm laying down - when the fuck did that happen? - struggling loosely against hands that aren't there. "Relax."

"Get out of my head!" I shout, and realize that the knocking on the door is actually real, it's actually happening. I can hear Nick calling out for Loki to stop whatever it is he's doing, Thor's bellowing, some metal scratching at the door. I see a green haze in front of the door, shaped like bars.

His head slowly tips to the side, and I know for a fact he can see that I'm worried. "If we discuss a way for you to, kick me out, would that help?"

_"No."_

An unkind smile is on his mouth now. I roll over and try to break free of this horrible grasp, but he's making the shadows around me move, and I'm starting to have problems breathing.

"Loki!" I shout, and look over my shoulder to see he is standing, his hands on the glass. "GET OUT!"

"Rude of you to yell at me."

"I SAID GET OUT!"

There's this image in my head of me kicking in the glass around him and slamming his head into the ground several times, and this seems to be the key, because he's out. The sandpaper scrubbing over my brain is gone. I no longer see his face in my eyelids, and fall off the bed in my struggle. I stay on all fours, dizzy, my head pressed against the cold concrete. I roll onto my butt, get on my hardly cooperating feet.

"Well. That was surprising, for a human."

I hold my skull, teeter dangerously to one side, falling into the glass dome.

"I suppose you can continue asking your questions, then."

"You know what?" I snap at him. "Fuck this nonsense. I'm out."

"Why?"

"Because you're_ invading _me."

"I am not."

I put my book in my bag and shove the bed out of my way with a half aimed kick.

"I won't be seeing you."

"Kitten." he follows me along the glass. "Don't leave."

I want to dare him to make me, but the extent of his magic is unknown to me, so I bite my tongue off and swallow it.

"Kitten!" he says, his voice elevated.

"What?" I snap, and turn, still going down the stairs.

"Stop." he says again, and bangs his hands on the glass.

"No."

He looks nearly apologetic, but not entirely.

"I won't ask again." he tries to soothe me. "I just wanted to see. I won't _invade_ you, I swear it by Odin's only eye. I won't do it again, because without your permission I cannot, and besides, you can throw me out any way. You seem to have enjoyed bashing my head in far too much, actually."

He waits as my shoulders settle down, I take several long breaths.

"I've frightened you," he says gently. "It was not my intention, Kitten. I meant only to see the world through your eyes."

He's so full of shit.

I glare as this becomes blindingly apparent, back down the steps. He watches me go, his face distorting into a steadily more and more hateful look. His lips pull into a single unimpressed line, and hands curl into fists, his jaw juts from side to side with the grinding of his teeth.

He calls out my name once more but I've marched straight through the green smoke and got both hands on the door and I pull it open with a growl. Tony is on his knees with what appears to be a hot iron in his hands. Hawkeye vaults him and has a gun trained on Loki, leading me to the other side of the door with his other hand.

Thor growls and, accompanied by Fury, goes ahead and decides to thoroughly chastise him, or whatever it is they think they're going to do. Tony gets up, Clint holsters his gun, and they both look at me, waiting for the explanation.

I just shrug, give them a half assed smile.

"I think I need a drink."


	10. Stark Expo

_This story is not yet done! Enjoy!_

_x_

* * *

_STARK EXPO_

_The Only Time I'll Ever Be Invited to an Event this Big with a Hot Date_

* * *

I thought I'd seen the end of them. I thought that after the Loki saga - classified, for those of you who kicked up such a stink, very hush hush, you know - I could pretty much write them off the page, invest in some hard core fanfiction and move on with my life.

It had been a perfectly horrible evening, that night after the mess that was Loki. Tony and Hawkeye were supposed to be keeping an eye on me, but they ended up in the midst of some of the most fast paced slagging off I've ever borne witness to in my life. They were firing at a speed of three and a half insults every twenty seconds, it was like a beautifully vicious verbal dance.

Doc, hearing that there had been drama with Loki, decided that he would drop me a line and check up on me. The resulting drink fest with the aforementioned and Thor is some of the most trouble I've ever been into my entire life.

But I digress.

There were no more Avengers to write about, in the weeks after, so I just put my head down and organized to go away, travel for a bit, until the infamy of having been able to walk away from a super villain wore off. People everywhere were on my case about it, calling me a bunch of creative names, mostly pertaining to how many of what Avenger I'd had in me.

Either that, or begging me for creepy details - like if Thor had beauty marks, if Tony went for boxers or briefs, if the Black Widow wore any underwear at all. People in the street were recognizing me, my stalker was leaving flowers in places he shouldn't have been able to, places like right next to all the easily assessable weaponry.

He seemed particularly fond of putting baked goods in my oven.

I was literally just throwing my last Nordic themed book across the room in a fit of rehashed frustration when there was a knock at my door. Not typically a recipient of visitors, and dreading what my boss would do when he found out I was skipping town in the peak of his business, I peered through the keyhole.

"Who is it?" I waited for an answer. Got an uncanny feeling, and spun with my fists coming up to protect my face.

Hawkeye grinned, took in the tiny, well worn shorts, baggy t-shirt and socks combination. He pushed my fist away and put his hand up on my door and leaned down, still grinning.

"'Lo, Kit."

"What is wrong with you?!" I put my hand over my heart. "I was on my way, why couldn't you just wait?!"

"I didn't knock." as if to prove his point, there was another knock on the door. "I'll give you a clue. If you don't open up soon, she'll come in the same way I did."

"And what way is that?"

"Sneakily." he takes his arm off the door so I can turn and pull it open. Widow stands there in a full emerald coloured, satin gown that skims off her hips and clings to her waist.

"We should've called ahead." she nods at Feathers, who is busy snooping around my half packed bags. "Your flight has been cancelled."

"How did you-?... You know what? Never mind. Oi, that's-!" I vault the couch and snatch the red string of lace off his finger. "-Do you mind?"

"I didn't think you were a lace kinda girl."

"These were supposed to be a surprise. Now I can't show you how they look on." I shove the panties back into the corner of my bag, thanking all sorts of gods my battery operated boyfriend is rolled up in a pair of jeans, well out of sight.

"What's going on? Why are you two dressed-" I motion between them. "-Like that?"

"Like what?" Hawkeye fixes his cufflinks, because he's in a full suit and tie and he pulls it off like some kind of sexy James Bond fantasy.

He looks like he is completely capable of charming the knickers of a nun.

"The Stark Expo is opening tonight." Widow offers me, going to my wardrobe. "It's a big deal. A premier event, only open to rich people, social elite, other inventors, and people that Tony thinks are worth the time and effort. He wanted you to come, but... You know Nick."

Not really. I just raise my eyebrows at her, absent mindedly smack away Hawkeye's nosy hands from my luggage.

"He forbade it." she continues, finding a successful dress. "He said he didn't want you encouraging any more trouble for yourself." she says, looking over at me.

"Uh huh. So you're here, casually rifling through my stuff. Wanna let me in on the secret, or-?"

"No secret. You've got a date. Have a shower. We're going in half an hour."

"Widow." I deadpan at her. "Nick doesn't want me to go... And I am not game to tempt that dog with another bone. I got a severe reprimanding after the Loki thing, and the drinking thing."

"And my tattoo had to be removed." Feathers mentions casually. "Can I see how yours turned out?"

"Later." I don't even bother looking at him. "So how can I-?"

"He didn't want you there by exclusive invite of Tony Stark, or hired under Pepper for press." she confirms. "But you're a plus one. Get moving."

When Widow tells you to move, you move. The dress is blood red that's sweetheart across the bust, with detailed straps, boned at the waist, shrinking what little size is already there, and a tight skirt to the knee, where it flares out like a mermaid tail.

I lift my eyes from my waist, holding the back of the dress together by hand, the other pressing the bodice to my chest, making my boobs kind of - pop. I come out of the bathroom, struggling a little, and heave in a big breath.

Widow is lounging across my couch, flipping through some drafts for my stories, and Barton is sitting on my kitchen counter, apparently going over the gun from my oven. They don't bother looking up, there's no big reveal, Widow just checks her watch and turns another page.

"I'm not going." I say finally, and let the dress fall, pool around my legs. No worries, I'm in a strapless bra and some comfy briefs I will never admit to stealing from Doc. I step out of it, skip over to Widow and take the drafts from her hands. She smacks the back of my leg.

"This is the ugliest tattoo I've ever seen."

"I tried really hard on that." Barton says, majorly amused as I tuck the papers away in what I think is a safer place. "And it's not that bad. Are those Hulk's?"

"No." Is my sharp retort, as I put fists on hips and stare at his hands, and the way they so effortlessly reassemble my gun. "Okay, ignoring how hot you are all dressed up and playing with my gun, I reiterate. I'm not going. Nick already hates me and I want to leave the country. I need a break." I sigh, rub my hands over my face, take a seat on my armchair.

"You look tired, Kit. Your stalker giving you trouble?" Barton guesses, cocking the gun, aiming it. "Want me to deal with him?"

"Don't tempt me, Susan." I'm all sorts of tired and I'm so not in the mood for a party, especially not in a dress that squeezes the air out of me. "Can't we just do pizza at Tony's Tower of Terror and Trouble?"

"No." Widow retrieves the dress from the floor, shakes it out. "You're going to have to trust me. It'll be good for you to get out and prettied up."

"I hate being prettied up. I just want beer. Beer and pizza. And a fist fight." I sit back in my chair. "Come on, Feathers, Widow. You can't tell me beer and some shitty horror movie doesn't sound better than a party where there's no party."

"It's not going to be a party without you." Hawkeye says, and gives me a smile that makes the boyshorts want to fall off my legs and fly into his face. "Come on, Kitten. For me?"

I give him a rather attractive snort.

"Well when you put it that way, there's no chance in hell, now."

"Get up and into this dress," Widow purrs. "Or I will handle you into it, kicking and screaming."

Right.

"I need some help with those catches."

She swears in another language and helps me do them, squeezing the air out of my body with the practice of a woman used to forcing bodies into clothes too small. I hold onto the back of the couch and exhale as much as possible, while Hawkeye kneels on the cushions and gives me a smug look.

"I'm so glad I was born with a penis, sometimes."

"Don't make me remind you of that cross dressing mission in Missouri." Widow mutters, lacing up the body. He just grins as yet more of my oxygen is squeezed out of me.

"Feathers. Make yourself useful." I motion to a pair of biker boots in the corner. "Get those, would you?"

He cocks a brow at the woman fiddling with my dress.

"No." she says. "Heels. Platforms."

"I can't. Trust me, I just can't. Boots or I'm not going."

"You'll be going shoeless."

"I'll do it."

"I'm not above hot gluing them to the soles of your feet."

"Easy, red, or you'll scare her away." Hawkeye fixes a curl behind my ear. "I'll find something to compromise."

"Stop flirting, H&M is nearly here."

"H and who?"

"You'll see."

Barton rifles through several books stacked haphazardly on the bottom of y wardrobe - the ones with various Nordic paraphernalia in them, the ones I couldn't face seeing any more - and finds another gun in the ankle of the thigh-high-whore boots I own. This is a new place for him, apparently, because he holds up the piece and looks over his shoulder, very amused.

"Getting creative." he notes, and spies a pair of white ballet flats, the ones that look like literal ballet shoes, with the elastic criss crossing over the top of my foot, a length of satin lace, and the same solid flat point, only these have serious soles that won't wear through. "These'll have to do."

Widow scrutinizes them, and nods.

"Put 'em on?" I say before she changes her mind, lifting the hem of my dress. I put one stocking'd foot forward, wiggle my toes at the Hawk, who saunters over casually and gets on his knees.

It's a good look on him.

He slides the flat onto my foot and sets it on his knee, amused, and fixes it into place, tying the laces around my ankle and up my calf neatly. He does the same for the other foot, his hand lingering on the back of my leg as he looks up at me.

"You look good."

"I know." I would punch him in the shoulder, but I can barely move.

"Hair and makeup is here." Widow says, and lets a stream of professionals attack me for about five minutes. Five minutes and they've made my mess of a bun into a side swept, shiny, loosely wavy do. They've gone red lips and simple winged eyes, and someone tried to put fake lashes on me before Widow scared him off.

"We're going." she says, and we manage to walk down my hall and out to the limo without much drama. I'm almost about to ask which of them will be escorting me as their plus one, when I see my actual date and try hard not to laugh out right.

Doc, sitting with his legs spread and head hung low, staring at a bunch of old cigarette butts, he doesn't see me as he scuffs his neat and shiny shoes over the concrete, looking dejected. I hold Hawkeye back and go to scruff the back of his head playfully.

"Looking for something?"

"Are those slippers-? Kitten!" " his jaw literally drops. He jumps up, looking over the dress. "You look- I didn't know-"

"We may not have let him in-" Hawkeye says into my ear. "-on the fact he has a date."

"Both of you are terrible people." he says, with a bashful smile, his hands warm on my arms. "But I thank you, all the same."

"We're typically all about surprises. Enjoy the good ones." Widow says, taking the archer's arm. "Now you can stop sulking." They get into the car - I lean up and present my cheek for Doc. He kisses my cheekbone, smiling, and we hug tightly. It's been a long time since I last seen him, and I've missed him madly.

"You look beautiful." he says, and now I'm grinning like a fool into his shoulder, because no one has ever said that to me. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Me too, Mr. Science." I wipe my thumb over the red lips printed on his cheek. "Why are you sulking, huh?" I tease, and allow myself to be lowered into the vehicle, like a real and proper girl. Hawkeye and Widow are lounging - she's on her blackberry, taping away, and he's got both elbows up on the seats, his shiny shoes on the bar.

I spy holsters at his hips. Not that I'm looking at the way his shirt tucks into his waist band, or wondering how fast I could undo that belt with one hand.

"He was sulking because you weren't returning his emails." Widow says, almost totally absorbed in her phone.

"Oh." I sigh, putting my arm around his neck. "You miss me, Doc?"

He smiles but doesn't exactly say yes, he just pats my hand. The look on his face is something that is both lonely and expectant, as though he's seen my absence coming.

"I've been avoiding my emails. I have a cult following." I tell him. "People got obsessive because I've been hanging around you guys. They think I'm going to spill your secrets. You'd be amazed at what people have been asking me. Mostly about you two, actually, and Steve. Everyone thinks I'm sleeping with someone. It's exhausting."

"Welcome to _my _world." Widow says, raising her eyes from her phone.

"How's the stalker?" Barton muses, sliding over the leather, coming closer to the end of the car. "Did she tell you she had a stalker?"

"Yes." Hulk says, nodding. "She did. The same day she did your interview, actually. She mentioned it over lunch." he pats my knee in a friendly way, and then retracts his hand to his own lap. I'm fixing the line of my lipstick with my nail as they both look at me.

I shrug.

"Shouldn't you know?" I shoot at the spy.

"You didn't ask for my help. I didn't give it."

"That's different." Widow mutters.

"I learnt my lesson." he retorts mildly.

"Well I haven't been shooting shadows." No, because I sleep with the light in my bathroom on. "So, I guess that's always good. Although he has been getting a little close for comfort, as of late."

"I'll deal with it." Barton says, and there's no amount of sexy persuading I can do to try and convince him otherwise. He somehow ends up negotiating a sleep over, informing me that he'll deal with the stalker and then 'put me to bed.'

I don't really protest all that hard. Doc finds it amusing.

When we step out, I expected paparazzi, which there was none of. I did not expect such high and mighty looking people to actively recognize the both of us and peer at us from a distance like we didn't notice they were looking.

"Oh, Widow?" I say sweetly, and lean her way. "You wanted to know what high school was like, right?... Class is in session."

She gives me a smile, laughs a little, links arms with Barton.

"I wish high school was this easy." Doc mourns. "I was the nerd."

"I was the rebel." I inform him. "I sold cigarettes for a dollar a pop behind the art building."

"You're so hardcore." Feathers says with a small eye roll.

"I was thirteen." I say in my rebellious defense.

"I'm pretty sure at that age I was making my own living."

"And I'd killed nearly seventy people by then." Widow recalls, as her eyes go glassy.

We don't continue that conversation, thankfully. Doc mentions how, when he was geeky in high school, he was screwed over by half the cheerleaders. They'd let him sit with them, but he'd be dutifully ignored as long as they could copy his notes. The whole thing made me want to time travel and kick those titheads in the teeth.

I mention how, the biggest problem I had was with Flick - Felicity Paige - who predictably wrote a charming piece on how I was a 'massive slut' and bully to her in retaliation to mentioning her in the Black Widow's article. All I have to say to that is: Max Winkle and Tory Peterson, you were in drama, fifteen if you were lucky, the stains didn't ever come out of your uniform and EVERYONE knew what it was.

"I read that, actually." Doc smiles a very small smile my way. "I didn't even realize she was writing about you."

"Because she's a terrible writer, clearly." I say, and flip my curls self righteously. Hawkeye puts his hand on my lower back, disrupting what is possibly a lawsuit in the making, and leans into my ear, his breath all minty and fresh on my neck.

(Eat your heart out, Twilight.)

"Did you know your stalker is here?"

I don't freak - I spin around and try and look for him. He sighs, like this is some kind of grievous offence. I repeat what he's said to Doc, who similarly looks around, though we don't see anyone suspicious.

"I'll keep an eye on it." he promises, and leans away again.

"Well. This isn't freaky at all. My bad for ruining the vibe, sorry, Doc."

"It's about time someone took the spotlight off me, anyway." he amends. "Should we find the host, or do you wanna go look at some science?"

I judge the look on his face. He's got a nerd-boner for science, it's cute as a button. Obviously, not his boner, that would be weird if I described his boner as a button- Well, he didn't have a boner anyway, so... his geeky excitement is cute, is what I'm getting at.

Jesus.

We do science. I can sort of keep up, but I definitely appreciate what's on show. It's getting late by the time we're finished doing the rounds, and we may or may not have picked up a Darcy and a Steven along our adventure.

She's got this figure hugging black dress on, the dip in the front leaving ample cleavage to spill out for everyone's viewing pleasure, but Steve's eyes are very politely averted. She's on his arm, and he's smiling, and goddamn if it doesn't make me all misty eyed because they're both so adorable.

I don't recognize Tony, I recognize Pepper. They have their backs to us, so her fire red hair is handy. She is wearing blue, which is utterly flattering against her skin, makes her stand out. Thor - with Jane in a pastel pink tulle dress beside him - sees me as I see them, and waves his arm, which nearly rips open his tux.

"Hulk, Kitten!" he says. "My friends!"

I grin at the solider who's ducking from all the extra attention he's getting from Darcy, and go over to them, giving the girls a kiss before giving one to the gentleman. Tony seems fine with it - "I just want you to know I spiked the red punch bowl over there with something more to your taste." - but Thor is reeling.

"I do not understand."

There is a beat while we all sort of chuckle,_ ah, good ol' Thor, totally clueless_. Then, that air does nothing short of up and vanish, because Thor has a rather solid show, peering out from behind his shoulder.

"It's a familiar greeting in Midgaurd terms." says a slow voice. "Relax, brother."

"Loki." He offers his cheek for a similar greeting as his brother, asking for a kiss. I pull away as he advances, digging hard nails into the doctor's arm, but he stops, holding up his hands in surrender.

"A pleasure, as always, Kitten." he drawls, then straightens himself. "I would've picked the Hawk to offer you his hand."

"He's working. But definitely around here somewhere."

"No need to threaten me with your lover." he tucks his hands over his belt buckle - he's wearing a form-fitting suit, in dark green, with a golden tie. "I come in peace."

"And you'll stay in peace." Thor reminds him firmly, before smiling at me. "I would not take my brother out unless he had made me certain he would behave. It was your words that gave me the idea to bring him out more - he read that I missed him. We have since been talking, and this is his first night out of keeping."

"All thanks to you." Loki drawls, tipping his head at me. "At the risk of sounding like a cliché - how _does_ that make you feel?"

And because I try not to lie, I ignore him.

"Hawkeye isn't my lover, Loki."

"You seemed so keen for him to be, though." he watches my ticks, the way I flinch when he advances slightly. Doc steps up to my side, giving him a clear warning with nothing but the expansion of his height. The Nordic prince looks from him, to turn a kinder smile my way.

"Do you not search him out, even now?"

"I don't need a man, but the guns he's packing might come in handy." I say smoothly. "And why you keep asking after Hawkeye, I'll never know. It makes a girl think you're jealous."

"Speaking of girls, and thoughts. I liked you better when you were little." he replies, which makes my upper lip pull back over my teeth. I take several steps back so I don't start swinging, actively making my grip loosen on my date's arm so as his circulation can keep going to his hand. I miss the thick, protective glass between us.

I don't want to be so dressed up any more. I want to leave the country, be on a plane, well out of his mind and sight. I should've told the Hawk and the Spider that no, I would not be going out, I'd be following my instinct to get on a plane.

"So sweet, so easy to talk to."

"So easy to manipulate, you mean."

"I found her endearing. You should behave in such a manner more often."

"You're an _asshole_."

"She seemed to like me well enough. Clinging to my arm the way she was, begging me not to leave her, bargaining with everything she had..." it's a cold drawl, and a terrible smile. "You should not omit certain parts of that experience for the papers you gifted SHIELD. There was nothing wrong with what transpired between us. I thought it was utterly charming-"

"Shut your mouth!"

"I thought she was ever so gentle, so kind, so faithful-"

_"Loki!"_

"What's he talking about, Kit?" Tony says, peering at me over his shades.

I may or may not have neglected to mention certain things that happened when he was in my head. It's private.

"What happened?" Tony gives the god a look. "Do I need to have you forcibly removed?"

"Not at all." he says, but doesn't take his eyes, nor his smile, off my face.

"You tell anyone, I'll slit your throat." I say darkly. "And that's a promise."

I don't care if Thor is inflating, Loki is still grinning and I'm boiling in my rage. And my fear.

"If you don't play nice with me, certain details of our... adventure, might begin to slip." he says airily, though dangerously enough to have me physically recoil. "I will take your apology now."

I turn utterly feral, for a moment, step up like I'm going to smack him right in the nose, but Steve - the gentleman that he is - forces the width of his shoulders between us, saying something self righteous, I can't even hear him, I'm too busy trying to get past Darcy without hurting her.

Loki is grinning, he's leering, his face and my fist have a long awaited date.

"Walk it off." Doc nods at me, as if he can understand the temper I've worked myself into (if anyone can, it's gonna be him) and allows my hand to fall out of his grip.

I ignore the looks at my glare and the run I've broken into, and I ignore everything else that isn't me aimlessly getting away, my dress gathered in fists and feet stomping. I hear Darcy start to chase after me, but someone stops her, pulls her back, and tells her to let me have my space.

I go around a corner, push past a curtain, and find myself encased in shadows, the premier event forgotten behind a thick wall of advertising. I'm backstage somewhere, with hanging lights and catwalks and soundproofed walls at my back.

I hide my face behind my hands, and take a big breath in, trying to settle the storm in my chest, relieved by the quiet I have stumbled into. The bastard... I should've just hit him. It would've made me feel better for trying, at the very least, before I ran away like a child. But here I am, sulking at a party, just like high school.

My fingers are shaking. I'm not ashamed to say I'm afraid of what Loki might say to them while I'm not there. The worst thing he can tell them is the truth, but I'm not sure that's the game he wants to play. I'm mostly sure he just wants to hold his information over my head for as long as possible to keep me in compliance.

There's a small scuffling sound, but I can't see any one, and no further noise is made.

"Hawkeye?" I say, kind of quietly. Then I clear my throat, cock both brows at darkness. "Come on, Feathers, don't play around. I could use a hug... Or whatever else might be on the table. Especially if we're on a table."

"Should I even ask?" he moves out of the shadows. "Who're you talking to, Kit?"

"...You."

He chuckles mildly, though it's fairly forced. He leans his butt on a low hanging shelf, and gives me a quizzical brow.

"You okay?"

I scowl half heartedly at him.

"You didn't mention I would be running into Loki when you and Red forced me into this dress."

"Didn't know you would be." he stretches, pops his spine, his jacket falling open. I briefly eye the gun, which makes him snicker. "Even if you are back to your usual quota of inappropriate staring, I'm goin' to go out on a limb and say you're not okay."

"Me? Inappropriate?"

"Unprofessional."

"I don't even stare_. You_ stare."

"I do it discreetly."

"You actually admit you stare at me? Well geeze. I feel all pretty on the inside."

"Don't make like you didn't know. Like you don't swing your ass on purpose when you realize."

I just flutter my lashes at him, because _of course I do._

"I would like to revisit the talk of you and I rutting on a table, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind a single bit." he saunters over, out of the way of a few scurrying backstage handlers, who give us a certain glare that yet again has me reeling back to the days of heavily making out in the playground. "You're shaking."

"What's a girl to do in situations such as these? A sly gentleman in a dark corner, with thick sexual tension pulsing in the air..." I lament, rather dramatically throwing my hand to my brow. "It's a wonder I've kept my knees under me, sir."

"I don't mean it in a good way, Kitten." he says, and is suddenly quite tamed, very serious, making me drop my hand and scowl at the sudden change in mood. "What did he say to you?"

"Who?"

"Loki."

God_damnit_.

"Don't worry about it. Seriously, it's nothing. He's vindictive, and nasty, and whatever scum comes out of his mouth is made of lies."

"Them's fightin' words."

"Yeah, pretty much. He was born with poison in his tongue." I reevaluate the distance between my mouth and his. "Speaking of tongues..."

"If you two start making furious mouth love," Widow warns, melting out of the shadows. "I'll have to do something drastic. Kitten, you're needed."

"I'm always needed." I reset my shoulders, squeeze my hands into fists. "Who needs me this time?"

"Doc." she says simply, and leads the way with long strides, the only way I keep up is in a short gallop. This dress doesn't allow for much more than that, and Hawk's hand on my shoulder - for steadying purposes only, if I had to guess - isn't helping my levels of concentration.

"Hey." I say. He looks like shit. His face is pinched in an unattractive way and I can feel thrumming energy pulsing off of him in waves. Tony is lazily lounged out beside him, arm around his shoulders. "You're such a man whore, Tony, honestly, get off my date."

"You want me to get your date off?"

"If you think it'll help with the green situation."

"It won't." Doc offers with a tight lipped smile. "I'm fine. It's fine. We just didn't like what we saw. There's no situation."

_We._ An involuntary shiver runs over me, and Hawkeye squeezes my shoulder.

"No harm in making sure." Widow mutters, though he hears, and winces.

"C'mere, Doc." I say, to diffuse the awkward. I lean down, take his hand, pull him up into standing. "We're going dancing."

"I can't dance."

"The rebel and the geek. We'll trump all the stereotypes. Come on, one dance. Nothing fancy." I take his other hand in mine. "I didn't get to dance at graduation, I was suspended."

"So was I." he replies with an old world smile.

"You two make me sick." Tony says, and pulls out his phone. Something more easy to sway to comes over the speakers - maybe Micheal Buble? - and he shifts in his suit, fixes his cuffs, and swings Pepper into his arms. "Milady."

So we dance. And we dance. And as Doc relaxes, so does everybody else. His hands aren't as tense on my waist and his brow isn't as low, and he even smiles a little bit. We sway on past Steve and Darcy - who has her head over his heartbeat, and his cheek pressed against her skull. They both have their eyes closed.

I nearly explode from the sweetness, pull Doc a little closer and wrap my arms around his shoulders to better contain all the 'AWWW!'

"God, I miss being that young. That love." I say to him, mourning my youth like I wasn't still smack bang in the middle of it. "When did everything get so complicated?"

"For you, I'd measure it was in the same second you discovered you had a mouth." Doc muses. "Maybe when you realized the sharpness of your tongue."

"Then I've always been this way, huh." I say, a little dejectedly. "Could've sworn young love happened to me, once. He was an asshat anyway. They all were."

"They usually are."

"Mind if I cut in?"

It's Hawkeye. Of course it is. Doc twirls me about once and I smile at him, because he really is a good man, with a good heart. He bows out, shuffles through the crowd, apologizing when he bumps into any body. I watch him go over and make nice with Jane, see Thor looking mildly confused so I assume they're talking about the huge algorithmic microprocessor he seemed so fascinated with earlier.

Barton picks up my hand, presses a carefully positioned hand lower than necessary but still in the 'safe' zone. I snicker a little, smooth my free hand over his pristine collar, ease it around to his shoulder. He tenses, and I grin.

"How you doin'?" I tease.

"I... I am better, now." his eyes are half lidded, but I see them drop to my mouth. "You know, Kit... If you want me to take care of Loki, all you need to do is ask."

"Psh. Don't worry about him."

"You were pretty shaken up. I don't see much getting to you."

"He was rooting around through my brain, of course he's going to find something useful for his diabolically mischievous purposes, or whatever it is he does in his spare time." I roll my eyes. "Nothing I can't repress and deal with on my own."

He pauses. Pulls me a little closer. We're literally that close I can't take any more steps, because he's bracketed my feet with his. All we do is sway, and I can feel his heart banging against his sternum, which means it's pounding against mine.

"Do you think... We could get out of here?" he says lowly. "Just you and I?"

"And where are we goin', huh, hot shot?" I lean a little closer to his mouth, breathe in the breath he lets out.

"Away from here. I would have words with you..."

"Words?" I blink slowly. "About what?"

"Just... things..." he lift his hand, runs his knuckles carefully over my cheekbone. The gesture is so gentle I flinch away, startled by its nature. "Do I scare you?"

"No... It's just... Been a real long time, since someone's been so gentle with me." I feel my brow furrow. Barton? What the ever loving shit? I think maybe he's drunk. Maybe he's lonely. He looks it. "So let me get this straight, you wanna go somewhere and talk? _Just,_ talk?"

"Yes." he agrees, then breaks into a wry grin. "Unless, of course, you want to indulge in some other activity-?"

"Loki." I say, because his words are what give him away. I put both hands on his chest, shove him hard. "You're a sneaky bastard, you know that?"

There's nothing but silence in the car. I can feel that everyone is furious, it's a palpable energy in the vehicle. There's no banter and there's no calm.

Barton's shirt is all torn up, he's got a nasty rope burn around his throat from where Loki grabbed him by the tie and swung him into a wall. His hands are in fists and he's glaring at the space between his knees.

Widow is on her phone - but she's not scrolling or typing, just staring. She has a shiny blue bruise blossoming under her eye, I have no idea how it got there and I don't really want to.

Doc is only in the remains of his ripped black slacks. I rub his hand between mine and try to maintain the calm, because he does occasionally turn a most worrying shade of green. He keeps shaking his head, running his free hand through the rubble in his hair.

And me?... I, am regrettably, fine. Turns out Thor and Steve get all protective over the ladies and even if I did get a good punch or two in, I'd be carried back over some well muscled shoulder weather I liked it or not. They claimed I had to keep an eye on Darcy and Jane... but seriously, I got enough of the caveman treatment to be just as angry as anyone else.

After a long drive around several frightened pedestrians, we make it back to my apartment.

I hovered for a good long minute, hand on the handle.

"Well... That was... A night to remember." Because if it was anything, that's what it would have to be. I lean over and kiss Doc's cheek, put an arm around him in a friendly squeeze, but only for a split second, because he's mostly naked and that's a bit awkward. He gives me a painful smile, a gentle pat on the shoulder and nothing else.

I shimmy out of the car by myself. Mount the stairs by myself. Open, lock, slide against the door, sink into a sad and grossly sweaty heap, all alone, as per the norm.

After I called Loki out on his shenanigans...riots happened. Barton was particularly upset by Loki's use of his face, hands, body, voice... the attraction factor, in general. He took it very seriously, not like I doubt why he did - Loki chose Hawkeye because it would enrage us both more than if it had been, say, Tony.

Now I'm sitting there, my feet hurt, my knuckles are burning, my brain throbs, and I'm beginning to hate the ever loving shit out of how tight this dress is. So I struggle to my feet, and sigh, fingers tugging at the laces on my spine.

There's a swift _Shht! _and my hand flies up to my arm, to see a blurred outline of a red dart hanging out of it. I smack it away, teeter dangerously to the side, the restrictive confines of my dress doing me no favors.

I stumble, but don't fall, shaking my head to try and rid of this fuzzy feeling encroaching my eyeballs. I see shapes start to blur - my couch and the floor merge and are one in the same - and someone is definitely approaching me, his hands are sweaty and he reeks of B.O.

"Doc?"

Not Doc. Why would Doc...? He wouldn't shoot me with a dart. He wouldn't... He'd knock. So it's not him.

"Barton?"

Barton's well aware that I wouldn't say no to a sleepover, although the foul mood he was in is probably not ideal for a sleepover. Also, he's too big to be Barton, so naturally my drugged brain processes this, and I ask:

"...Thor?"

But now I'm just saying shit, I feel drunk - but the worst kind of drunk, like someone's snuck something into my beverage when I wasn't looking - I can't step back because I'm too busy trying not to pass out.

I swipe but I miss, the momentum of the loosely thrown punch is enough to send me to the floor, half pushing up in my last attempt to get away. I struggle just to keep my eyes open as I am rolled over, and sat up, hair petted away from my face.

It's my stalker.

He's wearing the same flowers he's been leaving on his trips into my apartment. I can smell the scent of him, too, and it's familiar, which is frightening.

It wasn't too long ago that this man was once a big part of my life, this man shared my bed, this man knows where I keep all my guns and my spar keys because this man was with me when I hid them...

It's my boss.


	11. KittyKitty

From the Office of Stark Tower.

With love.

* * *

This is what I remember from the whole kidnapping saga.

"...Joseph?"

"Oh, you're awake. Hi. How's your head? Do you have a headache? I have advil." I feel a pressure behind my head as he sits me up, props me against his chest, winds his arms almost lovingly around my waist. My head is loosely rolling against his collar bone, and he forcibly steadies it with a firm hand.

"Joe... the hell... rrrr you doin'?"

"Oh, hush, 'nuff of that. You just drink this water and take these pills."

I open my mouth but tense up my tongue, let the water dribble down my front, onto his arm. He makes a disgusted noise and tries to get my floppy neck to stiffen up, but I refuse. Probably aided by the drugs, but I'm so _whatever_, when I'm not so _angry_.

"When I wake up... yerrrr dead. I'ma kick you ...in the teeth..."

"Uh huh. Course you are. That's why I'm going to keep you in these chains." I become dully aware of a heavy weight on my wrists. Then the world goes black for a minute, and when I reopen my eyes, he's trying to wrestle some jeans up my legs. I can tell time has passed; but how much is a complete mystery to me. All I'm aware of is Doc's boxers being bunched up around my thighs and what feels like two advil stuck in my throat.

"These were my favorite jeans to have you in." He tells me, grinning as he shimmies the very tight denim over my knees. "Can't keep you in that dress, much as I like it."

"What exactly... do you think... you're going to... get from...?" My eyelids drop. I'm conscious as he pulls me into sitting up, just with my eyes closed, so it's a big surprise when I throw all the weight in my head forward and crack him right in the nose.

He howls, and I sleep.

When I come to again, there is something around my throat, and it's rubbing me raw. It's dark, it smells like petrol and I can see he's haphazardly bundled up my red dress and tossed it across from me, in the back of this dingy, smelly van.

I roll, but don't have enough energy to roll back, and effectively start to choke myself. He notices just in the nick of time, swears, veers to the side of the road and climbs into the back of the van, coaxing the air back into my lungs. I cough, and curse him with every pretty word I can touch my tongue to, but he's immune to my tirades (having been on the end of them consistently since we first met), and pats my head, crawls back into the front of the van.

In what feels like a few seconds, he's back, the van doors are open and I'm half out, apparently trying to strangle myself again, kicking at him for all I'm worth, which, when drugged and rapidly losing oxygen, isn't much as I'd like.

"Stubborn bitch." He says, and stabs my arm with yet another dart. "You just wait. You _just wait_. I'm going to enjoy this, _Kitten_. What, you don't think I didn't see you with that- that guy? Hawkeye? That bow-and-arrows freak? When you were supposed to be with the Black Widow, and he comes along, and I had to watch the two of you together? You don't think that hurt me, baby? Well guess what..."

I can only remember the vague promise of hurt, not what he actually said. Then silence, and two arms hoisting me against a taut chest.

"Shit, Kit."

"Her eyes are rolling."

"She's gone into toxic shock. Shit. _Shit_."

"Give her to me."

"No."

"You can barely handle the device and her both, Barton. Now _give her to me_."

There's cold hands on my head. I make a sound like a dying whale, which is very attractive. The sounds around me blur – I sweat, I can feel it beading all over my body, the small of my back alone is almost like a swamp by itself. It's the most horrible sensation in the world, and I cower at the sudden screeching of tires and bright lights, my arms winding around the torso and clawing at the bony shoulders.

"I'll kill him, kill him dead-"

"Now, now, little Kitten. Such violence."

"Lemme kill him." Except I can't really focus on anything, particularly not killing any body and getting away with it. I can barely open my eyes to see Loki rather amused, holding me to his chest, sitting casually on the back of the vehicle that was used to kidnap me.

"I could do much worse to him, should you ask politely." His grin is utterly feral, but his hands smooth at my hair, my throat, which is completely gentle.

I try to speak some more but nothing but a strangled whine comes out. I feel like I'm inflating, like someone's stuck a air pump up my nose and is filling me up with air, air that's hot enough to make me wish I could drown.

"Breathe, Kit." Barton's fingers, must be, they're calloused and rough like an archer's fingers should be, press against my pulse. "You gotta breathe."

I don't. I can't. I just wheeze and pass out again.

* * *

The next thing I remember is a pair of cold fingers on the burn marks around my throat.

"Can you hear me, little Kitten?"

"Get your hands_ off of her."_

"Kitten, it's Doc. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

There are different voices, blurred shadows. Like someone has stuck a bunch of hazy grey paper over my eyes. I feel sick and my head pounds. The green of those pretty liar's eyes is literally all I can make sense of; I anchor myself in the green, the life in it, the brightness.

"She's not responding."

"Her eyes are open, though...?"

"That's weird."

"She hasn't been responding to anyone."

"She opened her eyes for me." For those pretty, pretty, liar's eyes. I let out a small sigh, and for a moment, there's a silence.

"Kitten?" cold fingers are still tracing the pain on my throat. "Can you say something?"

"Kit?" that gruff voice... Hawkeye?

There's a pause. Apparently waiting for something that isn't going to happen, they continue.

"How is she, Doc?"

"It's not good. She was already struggling with the first dosage of the inhibitor, the second didn't help. She had an allergic reaction to it, but there doesn't seem to be any stress on her brain. Then again, this isn't exactly what I studied..." he sighs, sounding world-weary and tense. "Loki, is there anything you can do?"

"There is always something, Doctor. But I need her to say yes."

Another pause.

"Brother, are you certain?"

"Of course. If the chemical has not ruined her mind I will know. All I need is a yes. Kitten, I need you to let me in."

"Wait, wait, what's happening? Guys? I'm lost. I don't like being lost. Game of Thrones, what are you doing, and why is Feathers drawing his bow?"

"He wants back in her head. I don't think so, _buddy_."

"Don't take that tone with me, _Hawkeye_."

"I'll do whatever I damn well please."

"Put the bow down. This is a place of healing, Shield-Brother."

I decide to interrupt.

"Lo...ki..."

"Jesus _Christ_."

"Calm down, the both of you." It's the only female voice in the room, so two guesses as to who it is, in a striking black catsuit. "Walk it off."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I didn't mean you, Doc." she replies tightly. "Hawkeye, walk with me."

There's a mumble, some shuffling of clothes. Loki mutters something sounding mildly self righteous and Thor rumbles: "Now it not the time, _brother_." Naturally, that's the only part of the conversation I make out, because Thor doesn't appear to have volume control.

"So what, you wanna get in her head? Because, just in case you weren't aware, I don't think she liked that very much. Just FYI."

"She didn't." Doc growls. There's a tense silence, then the warm comfort eclipsing the back of my hand releases its death grip and I get the distinct impression he's gone to follow Hawkeye and Widow on their walk.

"Hey doll." Says a somewhat sheepish Captain America. His hand covers the space that Doc's has vacated. Loki's hands are still soothing the swelling in my throat. "You're alright. You're safe. I'm here, and I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you."

_Naw._

"Yeah, yeah, Captain my Captain. That's very nice, I'm sure she feels much better cause you're here." I can smell alcohol. Tony's messy helmet hair becomes somewhat clearer. "Can you hear _me_, more to the point? It's Tony. To-nee. Your first Avenger."

"I don't think she's pulling that face because she enjoys the proximity, Stark. Move."

"Brother, you cannot presume-"

"Yes I can. Move or I will move you."

"I'd really, really like to see you try."

"I remember you being _decidedly_ vulnerable without your suit of armor when I tossed you from that window. Much like you are _now_."

"Tony, don't-"

"Brother-!"

"Ugh." I croak. I squeeze my eyes shut, open one of them, and I can just barely see them all again. There's a sticky in my arm I wince at, and I pull an even more attractive scrunchy face, because really, a needle? Not pleasant to wake up to, though I wouldn't mind a hovering Captain America every now and again. "The spotlight...Is supposed to be... on me..._Guys_."

Tony is vastly amused by this. Steve has my hand in his and is giving me a tightly lipped smile, his thumb lightly stroking, which is nice. Thor is on tiptoe, grinning down over his brother's plain expression. Loki's hand is still pressed against my vocal chords, but he retracts it as I become more lucid.

I give them all a half hearted grin.

"What...took you... so long?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine." Tony snorts, pats my leg, and mentions getting coffee for the both of us on his way out.

* * *

Apparently he had me for all of four hours before Hawkeye caught up with him. Turns out my apartment was bugged, which isn't really a good thing. Not when you go over everything you've done since taking up with them and consider the two one night stands, copious amounts of bad singing, and muttered swear words about dealing with SHIELD and what a pain in the ass it is.

But Nick, my lovely kinda-boyfriend, sent Hotguy after me after those suspicious name droppings when Joe first jumped me. Because Nick loves me, forgives the aforementioned bad singing, one-night-standing and bad-mouthing.

"So wait, Hotguy just like, saved my life?"

"Well, Nick originally sent Widow by herself." Jane leans in, helps herself to a bit of lettuce that had fallen out of the sandwich that Pepper had so kindly delivered a few hours ago, along with a pamper pack of goodies for me to get better, faster. "She _is_ a spy, and she was in the area. It made the most sense. What he didn't expect was that she would be in Barton's presence when she got her call. She didn't say anything, but Hawkeye just asked Tony to intercept it."

"Naturally." Doc muses from my left hand side. He'd stopped by in the morning to wish me a speedy recovery, and had since been helping me fill in my cross word book (also in the pack from Pepper) for the past five or so hours. "Tony didn't even bother asking why, he just hacked it and when they heard it was a disturbance from you, Barton already knew who it was."

"He'd been keeping tabs on you. Like your very own Robin Hood meets Edward Cullen." Darcy sighs, looking dreamy.

"How's Captain Ass-tastic, again?" I rasp at her, and she promptly shuts her mouth and stops making fluttery eyed lovey faces at me.

I'm sorry Steve, but it's really a _spectacular_ suit, you've got there.

"So from there," Jane continues. "Hawkeye went to go check up on your stalker, while Tony got his suit. Thor and I met him on the way out, and he thought that he should at least tell Steven, who was hanging out with Darcy, who then went to the lab and demanded that she be told next time someone she knew was kidnapped."

"Uh huh...?"

Darcy is grinning sheepishly at the sheets between her crossed legs. Doc shifts, picks up his mug, and nearly inhales the liquid.

"Except, she demanded it from Doc." Jane says calmly.

"No one had told me." The good doctor says lightly.

"Oh."

"So he, er..."

"Had a growth spurt." The doctor says calmly from his place on my left hand. He's sipping away at some luke warm beverage, looking sage and tired. "Tony had to be called back to deal with the Other Guy, but Darcy was sent to collect Thor for backup, who had since gone to visit Loki, and well..."

"That's how Loki found out." Darcy pipes up.

"Sounds just like high school." I note, and Darcy nods.

"So, Widow was in your apartment when Nick called and wanted to know why Loki and Barton were aware of your little issue, and she had no idea. Nick was all: "I'll call you back", but the next thing she knows, he's calling saying that Hawkeye and Loki have got you in custody and she should probably go and mediate the situation before that blew up."

"Dramatic." I cough, rub my chest. "Wish I could remember that. Barton's all smug and he won't tell me why. He'll only say that I'm possibly the cutest kidnap victim in the world, and his ego is well and truly stroked. Do you guys know what he's talking about?"

"The inhibitor he shot you up with has been known to have side effects before." Doc says, marking 5 DOWN 'WITCH'.

"Obviously not any good ones." I grump. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he shoves his glasses up his nose with his knuckle. "You totally know something I don't."

"Shut up, Darcy." Jane says, without even having to look at the teen, who's busy sniggering into her hand. "Trust me, you don't want to know." Is all I get, and they very swiftly change the conversation to something less mine-field, which happens to be Steven and Darcy, something I get behind fully.

* * *

I spent the next two days recovering in hospital - the first because of the drugs in my blood, and the second because I was pretty much going to shoot that ex-boyfriend bastard right between the eyes, like I should've down when he first cheated on me with my brother's wife.

SHIELD felt the need to intervene and keep me in to calm me down.

It didn't really work.

* * *

I'd gotten up on the third day, walked into the bathroom to put on some new clothes – courtesy of Tony Stark's "get better Kitten!" package that Pepper had dropped off - realized I had forgotten my jeans on the floor.

The note was written in Hawkeye's familiar scrawl, propped neatly against my folded jeans, the same ones I'd literally just tossed over my shoulder and onto the floor. You can bet nearly every dollar you have that I vault the mattress and snatch that shit up, all the while spinning and trying to catch him still lingering, because I was gone for all of point zero one of a freaking second.

_'Kit. When you're ready, come up to the pent house at Stark Tower. We've gotta debrief and Tony wants to party_. _Much love xx_.'

"Holy shit." Was all the words I could effectively articulate.

* * *

I was looking good, and I knew it.

There was a moment when I considered not wearing heels, but I thought back to Steve and Thor's height, and the fact that Widow's ass was as fantastic as it was, in combination with how pretty and powerful Jane and Pepper were. I assumed at least half of the aforementioned would be there, at least.

The skirt was tight and the shirt was tighter - puppies were up and out, somewhere around my neck. I had freshly washed hair in a sweepy, loose mess, and my eyes were lined like a tiger's. I had just set foot on the hall outside of Tony's meeting room when:

"Hey Kitten."

"JESUS _CHRIST_ SUSAN!" I whirled with full intentions of beating him to death. With my purse, to add insult to his injuries.

He caught me as I teetered on the heels, then helped me keep my feet while I scowled at his grin.

"I love it when I scare you."

"You don't scare me. You startle me. Widow scares me."

"Thanks, Kit." her voice was velvety. She came over and stood beside Barton, who was still grinning ear to ear.

I raised my hand in a threatening way. "If he does that again, I'll sack tap him into the next dimension."

"Sack tap...?"

"I'll _smack you in the balls_."

"You won't." she assured me, taking my arm. "I will. Come on."

I - ever the adult - stuck my tongue out at Barton, who playfully snapped his teeth at me in return. Widow was still gorgeous, her hair all done up. Hawkeye kept pace at her other side while I had minor difficulties doing so, mostly because of the heels.

"You look good, Kit." Hawkeye's leaning back, his eyes on the hem of my skirt.

"I know. And thanks for nearly making me wet my pants in the hospital. I almost got committed with the insistence that a man with a bow and arrows had been organizing my shit when I wasn't looking."

"You're welcome."

"You're just too damn happy about that." I mumbled.

"Heard you got fired." Widow mentions casually. "Tough break."

"Way to ease into that conversation." he snorts.

I just shrug.

"Eh. After someone did such a good job of scaring the old kidnapping boss into moving continents, the new boss and I... Well, Flick has her reasons, I think she accused me of stealing something. And 'sides. it's easier on me to now hunt the ex-boyfriend ex-boss ex-stalker down and cut him into itty bitty pieces, I have more free time this way... I'll figure something out. Always do."

"Of course." she nods.

"Cats always land on their feet." Hawkeye says with a mischievous look my way, and pushes open the double doors with his back.

"Ay! Kitten! Now the party begins!" Tony puts an arm around both me and Pepper. My shoulders, her waist. "Long time no see. Looks like you pulled up alight. Knew you would."

"He's already been drinking." Pepper says, and pats my shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that you were unfairly terminated. If you'd like, I can see what I can do to rectify that."

"Not even. I'm enjoying freedom. But thanks for the offer."

"So you don't want to write any more?" she quizzes, cocking a finely shaped brow.

I shrug.

"I honestly don't know what I want, actually. I usually do, but these days, I'm not so sure."

"Huh. Well that's handy." Is all I get from Tony, who pulls me in just a little bit closer. He is now steering us to where the pulse of music is making several various art forms buzz along the walls.

"Tony." Widow says in her lethal purr. "The debreif?"

"Yeah yeah, we'll get there eventually. Now you two crazy kids can either skip along or flunk and be square, whatever, I don't care. Kitten, I got brandy on tap, and I got that red whiskey you like."

Oh jeeze. Apparently he's trying to get me wasted. The red whiskey goes down like water to me, except it hits me like a damn freight train.

Barton snorts, looks at Widow, who's watching us like we're pre-teens with a bottle of wine to share between us for the first time. I don't really plan to drink much, especially not if Hawkeye is going to be present and I'm in these shoes. I glance over my shoulder – they're giving each other this intense burning look. Oh yeah, nothing happened there, my left tit it didn't.

"I'm in." Hawkeye says, then looks my way.

"Someone has to keep an eye on you." Red says mildly.

"Please." Tony scoffs, mock-insulted. "We have a Steve for that."

"We have to get this debriefing done, Stark." Widow says. "I'll give you some time here."

"Because you know that I'm gonna do it anyway?"

"In a nutshell." Hawkeye makes some nice quizzical eyebrows at the curly haired woman, who has her eyes trained on the millionaire wrapped around me.

"Niether of us are drinking-" she continues, but Tony cuts her short.

"You, though, you should definitely get wasted and strip. Those shoes can't be comfortable, I'm just concerned for your delicate arches - ow, Pep, don't smack me- Kit! - don't you get me from that side - I'm just _suggesting_!"

"Stop suggesting." Pepper says, and I break away from under his arm to laugh at him some more. Pepper pulls him aside, allowing the super spies and myself to wonder into the pulsing room. Steve's got his shoulders hunched, occasionally flinching at the music and it's astounding decibel, but that stops when he sees me, seeing as he strides over and hugs me off the floor.

"Woah, easy cowboy, I'm only human, you know!"

"I hated it when you were sick. Made me think of the war. Don't begrudge me." he says, putting me down again. "How did the debriefing go?"

"It didn't," is Tony's explanation. He struts right on past us minus a Pepper, grinning widely, to fist bump Thor and greet Jane. Darcy bounds my way, her eyes on Hawkeye's suit pants. He's moved over to the bar with Widow, who have gone to speak to a scowling Doc.

"That's clearly the Hotguy you were writing about, I didn't see it before. But damn, do I see it now."

"Y-Yeah, uh," I clear my throat, noting Steven's rather amused expression aimed down at my mild stutter. "That'd be him."

"Oh god, I've seen him mostly naked." She remembers, which of course, stirs certain memories of my own to the forefront of my brain. "I'm suddenly feeling a burning sensation south of the boarder. God, he wears sweat so well! And c'mon, like you don't totally wanna hit it." She blinks at him when - at several feet away, over Tony's hearing impaired music system, he sends her a naughty grin. The kind of grin that lets a girl know he's heard every damn word she's just said.

"Aaaaand he's all yours."

"Psh." Is my answer to that. I pat Steven's arm. "How are you?"

"I'm going okay. How are you? You look-" he chokes, looks around, settles on: "Nice."

"I know." I tell him, and whack his shoulder. "But you're doing better with the talking to ladies thing."

"Darcy is helping with that." he says, and instantly, he softens. It's freaking adorable. She can stare at Barton all she likes, there's hots going on between them both. I'm waiting until the release date of this article for them to finally ball-up and get together already, jeeze.

"I try my best." Darcy says, and takes his hand. "C'mon, come speak to Thor, or he'll get upset."

I look around, spy Loki in a corner, brooding, a glass of red wine in his hand. He isn't watching me until I see him, when he smiles, like the creeper he is, and gets up to head me off.

"Kitty."

"Loki."

I search the twinkle in his eyes. I don't know what he's thinking until he says:

"I understand you better now that your boss and ex-lover has stolen you."

"Ex-boss."

"I thought that was some kind of gaming console?"

I scowl.

"I doubt you'll ever understand me, _your highness."_

"You don't mean that, do you, _Liz_?"

The small name makes me jolt. It's something my father used to call me a lot. I ball my hands up into fists.

"Retract your claws, Kitten. You know the circumstances as well as I. Far be it from me to try and hurt you, not in the room full of friends. And whatever dear Hawkeye is to you."

"Seriously, you have a problem with him and me. I'm starting to think it's jealousy."

"As if I'd ever want _you_."

"I wasn't talking about _me_." I say lightly.

His teeth snap together and grind.

"At least _I_ would know how to care for him."

"Traversing his mind doesn't count."

"I've seen your insides, Kitten, I wouldn't have to know him beyond just another man to know I could love him better."

"Who's talking about love, here?" I say airily. "That's your word, not mine."

"Are you so sure?"

I want to retort. I'd throw down with him if I wasn't absolutely sure everyone in the room was listening in, even though there was mild conversation, it was pausing when we spoke. I just smile, because smiling enemies are always the worst kind.

"So it is jealousy, then. Don't worry, you can come to the wedding."

"I'd be honored."

"Of course, you'd make a pretty maid of honor." There's a moment were we communicate through a heated glare. Then:

"I wonder if you realize what they have planned for you."

I narrow my eyes.

"Loki, I don't know if you're aware, but I won't trust a word that comes out of your mouth."

"You didn't seem to mind me so much when I held you. On the back of that van. Keening into me, as after your namesake."

"I was very sick."

"Excuses, excuses."

He lifts my fisted hand to his mouth, forcibly uncurls my fingers, and plants a very careful kiss on my knuckles. I briefly entertain the idea of punching him right in the mouth, but he lets my hand go before I can fully decide if it's worth the consequences, bows his head back to his wine, and looks at me from under his lashes.

"Do tell dear Nick I send my kindest."

"And what is your kindest, a fistful of snakes?"

"Just a singular, particularly venomous one." He smiles, and it's not a nice smile. I turn and walk away, go straight to the red whiskey bottle, and take a good long mouthful. I turn, prop myself up on the table, see Tony and Doc have bracketed me in. Doc puts a friendly arm over my shoulders and pats my arm, while Tony sticks his own bottle in his mouth and pulls himself up on the table, shades up on his head.

"Do you want me to do anything about him?"

"Nope." I lean into Doc's arm, smile at Thor, who's beaming, bounding over to us with Mew balanced on his shoulder. The cat – still young, but bigger than a regular sized cat, looks bored, like it's his everyday to be clinging to the god of Thunder. Which, I guess it is. He looks at me, unimpressed, as I smooth a hand over his head, try and make some of his static electricity go away.

Then the drinking and merry-making begins, because - Hello, Thor, and your inability to get plastered on Midgaurdian beverages. Hello Tony, and your endless supply of all my favorite alcohol. Hello Loki, and your sneaky refilling of my cup. And hello Doc, who keeps promising me that things are going to be okay.

* * *

What I remember is this:

Tony and I, butts balanced on his balcony, threatening to jump unless Widow takes her clothes off.

Barton, with a small swagger, swinging up onto the ledge and standing there with his hands in the air, swaying slightly and me freaking out because - omigod STEVE! He's going to fall and die, and omigod, don't die, you'll be so much uglier as a stain on the side walk- STEVEN, DO SOMETHING!

Jane, Darcy and Pepper are messy, messy drunks. Jane clings, Thor doesn't mind. Darcy dances, Steve doesn't mind. Pepper has serious concerns, and it is Tony's genuine fear that she never relaxes.

Tony with me in the bathroom, singing AC/DC in the bathtub. Why were we in the bathtub? Someone was hosing us down. Why were we being hosed down? I don't know.

I remember Barton, I remember going to dance with Darcy and then being pulled into a dance with him. I remember being inches apart from his face, with my hands against his shoulders, and then Steven breaking us up before we dirty danced into the horizontal tango. I remember Darcy intervening, telling him to do something more productive with his time, like _dance with me, solider boy._

Steve and Darcy, so close, yet so far.

I remember snapping a heel (twisting my ankle) and violently damning it to the darkest depths of the nine realms, going on a tangin that made Loki laugh and laugh and laugh, until I was so not angry with the shoe as much as I was so amused at the laughter. Loki, with his damn smirk, looking at me with a glint in his eye that isn't cruel, not entirely.

I remember Widow pulling one of Tony's shirts over my head, and his shorts up my legs. Then I remember Doc giving me a hug and bidding me goodnight, and me taking exactly ten seconds to follow him and end my party curled up under his arm.

* * *

That doesn't explain how I now have the Black Widow's insignia - the hourglass, or whatever it's supposed to be - tattoo'd on the green cat on the back of my thigh.

Or why I had ink all over my hands, and what appeared to be the beginnings of some important mathematical formula drawn onto the inside of my forearm, mostly smudged but apparently still legible, when I brought it up at lunch.

Or even why I had one of Mew's bells in a hoop in my ear, with one lonely sock on my left foot and a ring on my left hand. A ring, that for some reason, _will not come off._

Yeah, you can bet I nearly died when I saw the big green stone shimmering on a particularly important finger, and the curly gold setting that looked suspiciously like a certain god's name. I threw up for a bit, wrapped myself in one of Doc's cardigans, and fell into the lounge, nearly falling onto Darcy, who was nursing a bucket by the couch.

"Jane and Thor are out of it, still." she murmurs. "Pepper's up, but in a bad mood. Steve's... Steve's AWOL. Dunno where Hotguy and Sexy Spider are, they went last night. Doc's with Tony, if you want him."

"Mmm." Is all I say. "What about Loki?"

"What about him?" she grumps.

"Where's he?"

"I don't know."

I don't want to ask Thor. He's probably taking care of his woman. So I shuffle down to the labs, curl into Tony's side, make sad noises until he puts an arm around me and pats my head carefully.

"Where's Loki?"

"Why?"

"Not important." But I'm guilty as hell because it's very important, and they're staring at me like they know. "I'm wearing a ring..." I mumble, and Tony nearly dies when he sees it.

* * *

Naturally we find him, all casual and suave, in the lab where I originally went. Mew is sitting on his knee, looking prim and proper, his usual fuzz being soothed under a less electric hand.

"Are we married?" I shoot off.

"I should hope not." he muses. "Unless that's some kind of inarticulate Midgaurdian proposal, in which case, I'm far and beyond out of your league."

I flip him the bejeweled finger.

"Then what the hell is this?"

"It's a promise ring." he blinks, looks between whoever's heard I'm married and has rallied to see the resulting fall out. "You mentioned them. Last night." he flicks his eyes back to me.

"I then I made you a promise. And I gave you that ring. You were pleased."

I scowl. I don't even like green, or wear gold.

"Why won't it come off?"

"Because I haven't broken my promise." he says, dead pan serious. "Why else?"

Naturally, he won't tell me what the promise is. But he does move the ring to a different finger when he realizes the significance of the one he's otherwise chosen, and has the indecency to look all smug about how flustered it made me.

* * *

My ring won't come off, but it does occasionally change fingers. Like when I'm talking to Hawkeye. It'll wind up on my ring finger. When I'm trying to pen something down, it gets in the way of my right pointer finger. When I'm trying to enjoy my coffee, it gets heavier, and it has since caught on every item of clothing I own, and has viciously pulled out a few strands of hair. Sometimes I think it's sentient, and I yell at it, and those are the times I swear I can hear a god laughing at me.

But otherwise, it's just kind of, there. And I get a lot of compliments on it.

The debrief is of course, postponed when I think I'm married, so we push it to the day after, when everyone is more fully recovered. I find the room I've been designated to, and am surprised to find there's only Nick, Tony, Pepper, Widow and Barton in the room, sitting in a line, like a judging panel. I thought I'd deal with more SHIELD lawyers, or at least some scary suits and shades.

But no, it's just the usual. Nick gets to his feet, as does Pepper - But Tony just kicks his legs onto the desk and grins over his shades.

"How're you doin', Kitten?"

"I'm fine. Mildly confused." I watch Widow and Feathers nod to each other at opposite ends of the table.

"Miss Black."

"Nick." I bat my lashes, and he lifts his hand to a chair in front of their row. "Am I in trouble this time?"

"Not at all." he says, but it's questionable by his tone. "Have a seat."

I take it, put my knees together and swing them to the side, trying my modesty. Tony's feet are smacked down by Pepper, who's smiling her encouragement my way, while Hawkeye and Widow are completely unreadable. Tony has his elbow up on the backs of both Widow and Pepper's chairs, looking bored out of his skull.

"We hired you with the intentions of good publicity." Nick says, folding his fingers together. "We were pressed to find someone who would not seem favored above any member of the public for unidentifiable reasons to give the job to. We needed someone who could hold their own against the team as individuals."

"Which you did." Tony says.

"We were satisfied with your work, right up until the first incident."

"I wasn't aware there was more than one... 'Incident.'" I raise both brows. "How many are there, exactly, Nick?"

"More than I like to think about." and his look makes me shrink a little. I hide the ring on my middle finger self-consciously.

"The one in particular, concerning Doctor Foster's safety." Nick blinks slowly, lets me gather my wits. "During your interview with Thor." he clues me.

"...The creepy stalker guy in the park?"

"Yes." he nods, looking severe.

"Wait, I thought this was about getting kidnapped?"

"This is about everything. We're efficient."

"Naturally." I say, and glance around. "Should I be concerned...?"

Tony shrugs. Not good. I may or may not squeeze the ring.

"What you didn't know," Nick continues, "Was that we had persons linked to your live feed, to make sure you weren't editing or up to any particular prying. When Stark shut off the microphone for those few hours, we were the ones that had to turn it back on by remote." he fixes a dark look at Tony, who shrugs.

"I wanted privacy for my drinking game." is how he explains himself.

"So I've been told." he says dangerously, then returns attention to me. "_That _stalker was a trained assassin sent to abduct Thor's girlfriend and hold her at ransom. You not only saw him, but you made him. Then you acted in an appropriate way until you could discern he was a threat and took him out without causing a scene."

"Yeah, well..." I rub the back of my neck, glance at Hawkeye and Widow, look back at Nick.

"We weren't particularly interested in retrieving the footage from the invasion. We had enough eyewitnesses attest to you taking care of nearly fourteen aliens, from what we estimated. After we pulled the cameras from the incident, clarifying that you did all you said you did, we decided to look further into it."

"_I _looked into it." Tony corrected. "Because he asked nicely. JARVIS worked through the data, but most was totaled. I had to do a fair bit of work on it, but most of it is viewable. Which is why it took you so long to get from point A to point B." he jerked his thumb at Hawkeye.

"The extra weeks between Thor and Hawkeye's interviews..." I blink for a while. "...Was because you wanted to see what I did during the invasion?"

"Yes." Nick nods, and Tony brings up a series of four screens, all showing me in various states of battle - be it guns, metal bats, hand-to-hand, smashing into aliens with cars, Self Igniting Molotov Cocktails and all.

I watch myself shield people with reckless driving, pull myself up through busted glass, use the invader's weapons against them. I watch myself point people into safety, and set up what looks to be a parameter, which I then man with my rifle - the one no one is supposed to know about - up on my shoulder. I watch myself make a mad dash for a pair of siblings lying injured in the middle of the road, trying to avoid being trampled by an army - I watch myself leap over them and drive a chef's knife up through the alien's mouth as it lowers to devour them, or whatever it is aliens do.

Tony cuts the feed, and I can feel myself sinking in the chair, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

"We totaled thirty two." Nick says, and stares at me.

"Thirty four." I correct, in a very small voice.

"Then there was the matter of how you handled yourself at the Expo." Fury went on.

Tony grins. "See, this is the thing. We all kind of have a hard on for tough ladies. And you had all kinds of potential from when you first started working this thing, but we didn't pay attention until your old pal Feathers, over there."

"I was assigned to assess you." he mentions, leaning forward on his forearms. "It's why I snuck around so much, to see if you caught me. You were being studied, while you studied me."

"So was I." Widow concurs. "This is why I kept throwing all those hypothetical situations at you. We found you acceptable. Probable."

"For what, exactly?"

Pepper shifts in her seat, opens up her own manila file.

"You did a Major in Creative Writing?"

"Yeah."

"And a Minor in Business?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, I could always use a link to the media." she says with a small smile. "Tony Stark happens to work up a mess with his public, and I don't have time to look after those kinds of things, not all the time."

"Okay. I don't get it."

"We think you'd do well in the Avengers world." Nick says, kind of casually, considering the weight of his proposal. "We want you to do some further training, and in the mean time, work for Miss Potts as a kind of cover. Frankly, I would have you on solely because you and Loki seem to get along majority of the time, and he talks to you, which Thor says is rare."

"Did you even read what he did to me? What he did at the Expo?"

"I watched it all, as it was happening. You handled yourself."

"Are you actually _insane_?"

"It could've been much worse." Barton says.

"You would know." I say, crossing my arms. His face goes cold, devoid of all emotion. "So why are you okay with me babysitting the sociopath?"

"I hope you aren't talking about me, here." Tony mentions loosely.

"Look, I'm just pointing out, Loki doesn't like me. We _do not '_get along'."

"You've seen him with everybody else." Widow says, and her voice is literally the bucket of cold water over the fire in my chest. I calm down because, well, she scares me into it.

"He doesn't speak, and when he does, it's with something-... cruel. He growls at any one outside of the Avengers that gets too close. Tries to ruin the relationships we have. With you, he's- less, of that, more of what Thor tells us he used to be like. Whatever you two got up to when you were in your mind, it changed him. At least, concerning you."

"Don't bother asking. I will _never _tell." I vow, as Nick opens his mouth.

He closes it, resettles in his chair, nods.

"Fine." he says, and waits. "If you need proof, you only need to look at your right hand. He's given you a token. A promise of something."

My right hand? Of course, the ring has moved, as I've been hiding it, it's gone onto the other finger. I just sigh when I see it.

"I think... I don't know. I'd gladly work for Tony, and Pepper. But for SHIELD?" I raise my eyebrows at them, "Nick, as much as I adore you, I've been running circles around you for the better part of half a year and, I gotta tell you, it looks horrid." And then, because ladyballs always ruin my civility: " I want the same deal Tony has."

"You don't call the shots here." Nick says.

I shrug.

"Fine. I won't do it then."

There's a long, silent pause, which is unsettling in the presence of Tony Stark. He looks over his glasses at Nick, who keeps his eye on me, narrowing further and further until he's assessing me through his lashes, and I can't make anything of it.

"So... Time for red whiskey, Tone?" I say lightly.

"Sit." Nick says, as Tony gets to his feet. With an exasperated sigh and a rub of his temples, Tony retakes his seat, but he puts his legs over Pepper's lap and reclines into a mostly horizontal position.

"I don't see why this is necessary." I say, trying to fix the line of my skirt to at least a mildly acceptable length. "All this drama. Seriously. You can't want me that badly..."

"It would appear I've underestimated you." Nick acknowledges this.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

_Shut up, pride. You're drunk, go home._

He glances over to his agents, who are watching me with unblinking eyes.

"Give us a moment." He says, and pushes back from the desk. The other Agents take longer to adjourn, get up, rehash my offer more privately. I squirm, Tony bugs Pepper until she whacks him with a stack of papers, and then the personnel take their respective seats, all give me the same look.

"Miss Black." Fury, flanked by his well dressed besties,folds his hands in front of his face, partially obscuring my view of his mouth, so I can't tell from what little expression what he's feeling. He's not showing signs of aggression, at least, but he doesn't sound happy. "I'll draw up paper work and you're on trial."

Tony claps a hand on Pepper's shoulder. "You know she's mine, either way?"

Nick ignores him.

"Keep an eye on the situation." He nods to me, gets out of his seat. "We're looking into your history, Black. So I'll be seeing you, sooner or later."

"Sure you will." I say, and try to maintain perfect calm. He just shrugs, and I wait until he leaves before I exhale. "Good God, I'm going to wind up wearing concrete shoes when he finds out what I've been up to."

"No you aren't." Widow says evenly. "That's the mob. We're more discreet."

"Oh, that makes me feel better, thanks." I stare after him at the door, suddenly trying to recall all the stupid shit I've done since teenagedom and an official record. Several evil ex's, the kidnapping one not even included, and I've got an interesting history, to say the least.

"So. I think drinks." Tony says, and winds an arm around my shoulders. "Steve had money on you getting in for sure. He owes me a fifty. I told him not all the way in. Second base, at the most."

"You're a billionaire, why on earth are you calling in a fifty dollar note?"

I'm a little dazed. Did that just happen?

He snorts.

"It's the principle. Welcome to the club, Kitten."

* * *

THE END

So, this didn't turn out how I thought it would.

Thanks for reading!

Aude

x


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